


All This and Heaven, Too

by AmberAnnh



Series: All This and Heaven, Too... It Means Nothing Without You [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean's an ass about feelings, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2014, Gen, M/M, Soul Bond, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmberAnnh/pseuds/AmberAnnh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death has just returned Sam's soul, Raphael is winning the civil war in Heaven, and Castiel is badly injured. Dean sells Cas his soul in an attempt to save his angel's life, but that hardly solves all their problems. Sam's still suffering hallucinations of the Cage, Raphael has a powerful new weapon, and the Corn Belt is suffering from a mysterious zombie infestation...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill: Not my sandbox; I'm just playing in it.  
> This fic is set after 6x11, but certain plot points are AU starting after the Season 5 finale (no Campbells or sneaky!evil!Cas, for example). The title is taken from the song [All This and Heaven Too](http://youtu.be/dQPgznFCLw0) by Stryper. [Lyrics here](http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/All-This-And-Heaven-Too-lyrics-Michael-Sweet/A2CAECDCA0C3B48E4825725E001579A8).
> 
> Also posted on [LJ here](http://amberannh.livejournal.com/7062.html).
> 
> Check out the [amazing art!](http://wifihunters.tumblr.com/post/102336180974)

Dean ripped open the iron door and tore across the panic room to his brother's side before the echoes of Sam’s scream disappeared. He bent over his brother’s prone – and now silent – form and reached out and grabbed the unconscious man’s shoulder. “Sam!” No response. “Sammy!”

Not moving his eyes away from his brother’s face Dean dared to ask "Is he..."

“All right?” Death finished. “Of course not. Reintegrating a mind, body, and soul is traumatic. He’s sleeping it off. Now sit down and pay attention.” Death set the empty desk chair in the center of the panic room, near the cot.

Dean looked over at Bobby, still standing outside the room, and eased down into the metal chair.

“Robert, if you’ll give us a moment...” Death is nothing if not polite.

Bobby didn’t need to be asked twice. With a silent “Don’t be stupid, idjit” look at Dean, who quirked an eyebrow, Bobby turned and headed upstairs. He knows enough to know when things get too far above his pay grade.

Dean watched as the salt-coated iron door closed and locked itself. He took a deep breath, then looked up at Death, who loomed over both him and the still-comatose Sam.

“So... I’m working for you now, is that it? Paying _this_ off?” Dean gestured at his brother.

“You think you weren’t before?” Death asked, in a tone that reminded Dean of past teachers who'd treated him like the slowest particular student they'd ever had in class. "You've been operating under a false assumption of autonomy, I see," Death continued. "I was under the impression that Michael had explained to you the complexity of your very existence.”

“Yeah, ‘free will is an illusion.’ I remember," Dean replied. "That’s crap. Me and Sam proved that when we stopped the apocalypse.”

“No," Death shook his head. "You merely switched the tracks... You’re still utterly incapable of creating your own path.”

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Death cut him off. “I don’t have time for your ignorant insistence on free will, Dean. Now I’m going to tell you what I want you to do and you will not interrupt me again, understood?”

Dean swallowed, dropped his eyes, and nodded before looking back up at Death.

“Good. Now, I told you before, it’s about the _souls_ , Dean. I cannot look into the future as clearly as my brother but I can see a bit ahead of the curve. If I’m not very much mistaken, you’re going to be offered an opportunity soon to find out just how important the power of human souls is to a great many beings. Take it. I want to know who wants them, and for what purpose.”

“So you want me to spy on things that are buying people’s souls?” Dean raised his eyebrows and (just barely) resisted rolling his eyes. “Go to the nearest crossroads. Demons have been buying up souls left and right for freaking ever.”

“As is their prerogative.” Death bent nearly in half to bring his face close to Dean’s. “But you know they aren’t the only ones, Dean. Angels have begun laying claims as well. _They_ are the new players. I want to know why.”

“Can’t you just ask them yourself? I mean why the hell would you need my help?”

Death straightened and squeezed his eyes shut as if he could feel a migraine coming on. “I never said I _needed_ anything from you. You have nothing that I cannot acquire for myself. However, you are the most convenient tool at this juncture. A perfectly sized wrench I can use to adjust things, just so.”

He turned to stare Dean in the face, and Dean averted his eyes out of some long-suppressed self-preservation instinct. “I’d be foolish not to take advantage, and I am never foolish.”

When Dean looked up again, he was alone.

And locked in the panic room. God damn it.

“BOBBY!”

***

Two hours later Sam still hadn’t woken up, but Dean had recapped his conversation with Death (his life is so ridiculous) for Bobby about ten times.

“I still don’t like not knowing _why_ he’s got you on a leash all of a sudden, boy,” Bobby said gruffly. “Last time you did him a favor we at least knew what for.”

“Yeah, yeah. He wanted the bullets out of the devil’s gun, I remember." Dean shook his head. "I just don’t think we can figure this one out over a beer, Bobby. He’s _Death_ , and that mother is so outta our league, it’s not even funny.”

Bobby huffed his agreement and took another swig of PBR.

“He did mention a brother, though,” Dean continued. “Any idea who – or what – he was talking about?”

Bobby quirked an eyebrow. “Well, he did give you the whole ‘chicken and egg’ speech about him and the big man upstairs back in Chicago, so that’s where I’d put my money.”

Dean swallowed his beer and lifted his eyebrows, a sarcastic grin on his face. “God? As Death’s brother? Yeah, _that_ makes sense.”

“Actually, it kinda does, Dean...” Sam’s voice drifted in from the doorway.

Dean stood up so fast he knocked over the chair he’d been straddling. For a second, he couldn't make his voice work. Luckily, Bobby took care of the talking part.

“Sam. It’s good to see yah, boy.” And man, the callback from the last time he’d said that hit Dean like a punch to the gut.

The awkward déjà vu wasn’t lost on Sam, either. “At least nobody sold their soul to get me back this time.” His small grin slipped away when neither Bobby nor Dean said anything. “Nobody sold their soul this time, right?”

The spike of panic in Sam's voice jarred Dean’s brain back into sync with his throat. “No, Sam," he said. "We may not be the brightest crayons in the box, but we’re not that stupid.” And then he and Sam were hugging. Dean never can figure out which of them instigates these, and they always seem to sneak up on him. In the background he heard Bobby’s quiet “Speak for yourself, idjit.”

Dean watched with full eyes as Sam stepped back and made his way over to the older hunter for his chick-flick moment. _Sam looks good,_ Dean thought. Healthy and whole, for the first time since Dean can’t remember when. He can’t help but grin.

“So,” Sam said as he turned back toward Dean, “how am I back?”

Dean glanced over at Bobby. “What do you remember?”

“Pretty much a blank slate up here right now,” Sam tapped a finger to his temple. “I remember the graveyard in Lawrence, but it’s kind of patchy. The last thing that’s really clear is you by the Impala and then Michael showing up. Then...”

“Yeah,” Dean cut him off. He really didn’t need to hear that again. “Well, you’ve got a pretty big gap then, Sammy. It’s been over a year.”

“What?”

“Been a year and four months since Lawrence, Sam,” Bobby pitched in. “But Dean's been out of the game longer than you have.”

Sam rounded on his brother. “What’d you do, Dean? How’d you bring me back?”

“Jeez, Sam. Chill.” Dean tossed a glare at Bobby. “I went to Lisa’s, like you made me promise to. I was there until about four months ago.” He stopped, not sure how much to tell Sam. Death hadn’t made it sound like that wall was all that sturdy, and if Dean knows his brother (and he does), knowing that he’d been up and kicking will just tempt the kid.

“Then what happened?”

“Then I got back into hunting.”

“Just like that.”

“Yep.”

“Bullshit.”

“Can’t we just start over, Sam? Don’t look the gift horse in the mouth for once, huh?”

Bobby’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Dean, he’s got a right to know.”

“Know what?” Sam’s puppy dog eyes were out in full force, now. “Guys, tell me!”

Son of a bitch. “I got back into hunting because you came and got me, Sam. You showed up at Lisa’s, saved my ass from a couple of djinn, and pulled me back into the life because you wanted my help hunting. You couldn't keep a decent partner because you were a complete asshole the whole time and kept getting them killed, and you didn’t give two shits about collateral damage, _or me_ , because you didn’t have your soul. There, happy now?”

Sam backed away and sank down onto the couch, gaping. “I didn’t have my soul? How does that even happen?”

“I don’t know, and we’re not gonna find out.”

“Why not, Dean? I think this is pretty important!”

“Because Death’s the one who put you back together. He put up a wall in your skull to keep all the Hell stuff locked away. Remembering that’d kill you, Sam. Kill you. So just leave it be.”

Sam stayed quiet for several seconds. Dean didn’t really have anything to do but stare, and he was never that good at awkward silences. Bobby had to elbow him three times to keep him from interrupting Sam’s thought process with random sarcasm. Finally, Sam looked up at them. “So that’s why you two were talking about Death and God, huh? I wondered why you two’d gotten so philosophical all of a sudden.”

Dean grinned again. “Shut up, nerd.”

“If you two are gonna keep bickering like an old married couple, I’m gonna need something stronger than beer.” Bobby headed toward the liquor cabinet. “Nothing says ‘we’re celebrating yet another Winchester resurrection’ like some Jim Beam.”

Dean full-on laughed at that one. “Amen!”

***

“Amen!” Raphael’s true voice thundered across the desert, rearranging dunes and raising clouds of sand to blot out the sun.

The invocation he’d used against Castiel’s forces was ancient and powerful, made even more so by his status as an archangel. After Lucifer destroyed him in Stull Cemetery, Castiel had been raised (the second time) with more power than he’d ever had before, but he was still little more than a nuisance to Raphael’s unbridled true form.

Castiel dodged some of the blast of energy that hurtled toward him from the weapon Raphael held, but the glancing blow still sent him tumbling through the aether. He heard the dying screams of his brothers as Raphael’s weapon crushed their grace, punishment for rebelling at Castiel’s behest. He felt a mortal wound in his own grace, spilling his life across space and time as he careened over the earth.

When the blast wave carrying him finally faded, Castiel called his vessel to himself and let gravity take hold. As he plummeted downward, he thought, _at least now I know which way is up._

He spread his wings to slow his fall, but they would not support his weight (metaphysical or not). He was close enough to the earth now to see plots of cultivated land. Farms and homes sprawled beneath him. _I’m dying._

Castiel didn't want to die alone. He searched for the one human soul he could always find. Despite it being hidden by sigils he himself had carved, Castiel could always sense Dean Winchester’s soul. They were connected by more than just friendship or camaraderie. He had touched that soul directly with his grace, in Hell. That kind of mark did not fade.

Castiel wrenched his aching wings, painfully - but successfully - directing his fall toward that bright pulse-point. It wasn’t far now. _Father, help me._ For only the fourth time in his long existence, Castiel lost consciousness.

Seventeen seconds later, the insensate angel crashed into one of the scrapped cars languishing in Singer Salvage Yard, scaring the pants off of three spectacularly drunk hunters.


	2. In the Beginning

Being drunk with amnesia is a lot more fun than being hung-over with amnesia, Sam concluded as sunlight stabbed his eyes.

“Nuugh.”

As he rolled off of Bobby’s spare bed and onto all fours, Sam waged a two-front war against a bitch of a headache and some spectacular nausea. He lost against the headache, but managed to keep his stomach in line.

Next step to regaining full consciousness: figure out what the hell happened last night. Sam remembered waking up in the panic room, wandering out and overhearing Dean and Bobby discuss God and Death. Then he found out that he couldn’t remember almost a year and a half of his life. And Dean wanted him to just let that be. Sam didn’t know if he could do that, but he’d give it a try. Dean had been through enough... and Sam wasn’t ashamed to admit the thought of remembering Hell scared him shitless. He’d seen what four months down there did to his big brother; he didn’t want to know what over a year had done to him.

Then Bobby had broken up the moment by pulling out the liquor. Sam remembered the first couple rounds of shots, but then things got a bit out of focus. He definitely remembered Castiel crash-landing outside, and helping Dean and Bobby haul the unconscious angel back inside and onto the couch in the den, but he must have passed out not long after that.

Sam lurched to his feet and managed to stumble downstairs without making too much noise. In the den, Dean still kept vigil over Cas, sitting beside the couch in the chair that he'd dragged from its usual place behind Bobby’s desk last night. Neither Cas nor Dean moved when Sam passed them on his way into the kitchen.

Bobby sat at the table beneath the window, nursing a massive cup of coffee so black it looked like used motor oil. He looked up from poring over a book when Sam walked in.

“Well you look like shit, boy.”

Sam grunted and filled himself a cup of coffee/sludge, canvassing the kitchen for milk and sugar. No dice. He’d just have to drink it hot enough to scald his tongue (and therefore not be able to taste anything) and suffer the consequences later.

He glanced back into the living room. Dean still gave Cas his full attention, but Sam knew his brother wasn't above eavesdropping, so he leaned close to Bobby and whispered, “What’d I miss?”

Bobby sighed. “A whole lotta nothin’. Dean’s been sitting like that since we brought Cas in. Checked him over good as we can, but there’s no injuries on him except for what he got destroying my livelihood instead of using his wings.”

“He hasn’t woken up at all?”

Bobby shook his head. “And I’ve been looking through all the books on angels I dug up after Dean got yanked outta Hell, but I haven’t come across any mention of anything that’d hurt an angel that bad and not leave a hole someplace.”

Sam took another gulp of his practically boiling coffee before abandoning the mug on the counter. “Let me look through some of these, see if fresh eyes catch anything you missed.”

“And what exactly’s ‘fresh’ about your hung-over ass this morning, idjit?”

Sam sat at the table and grabbed an open book. “I’m just trying to _do_ something, Bobby.” His gaze drifted across the table into the living room again. Dean still hadn’t moved. 

“Yeah.” Sam looked back to see Bobby staring at Dean, too. “Right. Well, there’s a couple books at the Christian college in town that’re a long shot, but might be worth it. Bunch’a nuts at that school, but a decent library. I’ll be back in two shakes.” He levered himself up from the table and grabbed a set of keys hanging by the door. “If the Fed or CIA phones ring, pick ‘em up and pretend, anything else just let ring.”

Sam nodded and looked down to see what language he was supposed to be reading in. “And keep your brother and his angel alive, while yer at it,” drifted in just before the front screen door slammed shut. A minute later Sam heard the rumble of Bobby’s Chevy as he took off. He settled in for a long morning of research.

***

“Dean?”

It wasn’t much more than a rasp, but Dean's head snapped up at the sound.

“Hey Cas,” he said when he saw the angel was actually conscious, not just mumbling in his sleep again. And yeah... the fact that Cas kept saying Dean’s name while he was out? Dean wasn’t going to think about that just now. Or ever, if he could help it.

The floor creaked as Sam crossed into the room to hover over the two of them. “Welcome back, man. How’re you feeling?”

And that was just about the stupidest question ever, in Dean’s opinion.

From the look on his face, Cas clearly agreed. “I feel horrible,” he deadpanned.

Sammy needed a lesson in how to ask questions that were actually _helpful_. Dean demonstrated: “What happened, dude? You totally crash-landed last night.”

“Raphael.” Cas tried to sit upright, but failed pretty epically, just barely managing to move off the pillows beneath him before listing sideways. Dean grabbed his elbow to keep him from tipping off the couch. “He used one of Heaven’s weapons on my allies and me. I’m not sure which one it was.” He looked up at the ceiling and his voice got even gravellier. “I think I may be the only survivor of that battle.”

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.” Well, Sammy got that one right.

Dean leaned back in his chair. “What kind of weapon has that much firepower? Can you get your hands on one?”

“No. I’m not certain which it was, but I do know it is lethal.”

“Well, good thing you’re a tough wing-man to waste,” Dean grinned.

Cas met Dean’s eyes for the first time since regaining consciousness. “Dean, I am dying.”

The air punched out of Dean’s lungs like he’d just taken a tire iron to the chest.

“My grace is torn,” Cas continued, eyes still locked with Dean’s, “I can feel it spilling out of me.”

Silence stifled the room for about three seconds before Dean jumped out of his chair.

“So how do we fix it?”

“We can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

Dean turned away because he thinks better when he paces, and absolutely _not_ because his eyes were stinging and he didn’t want Sam or Cas to see. Cas wasn’t dying, so Dean wasn't upset. Not at all.

Sam reached out a Stretch-Armstrong limb to stop Dean from walking away. “Cas, you’re sure? Is there anything we can do?”

“There is nothing that I would ask of you.”

Dean stopped walking and scuffed a boot against Bobby’s floor. Behind him, Cas's gravel voice came again. “Thank you both for being my friends.” 

“You’re not just a friend, Cas, you’re family," Sam replied. "An honorary Winchester.”

 _Dying like one, too,_ Dean thought.

Wait... he turned over Cas’s phrasing in his head again. _Nothing that I would ask of you._ Maybe he was grasping at straws here, but...

Dean spun back around and towered over the beat-to-hell angel. “There’s nothing you’d _ask_ , but that doesn’t mean there’s _nothing_ , does it?”

Cas looked away and shook his head slightly. Dean didn't know how to feel about that, but he was either pissed or relieved.

“Quit holding out on me, man. What’s plan B?”

“Dean, if I wanted it from you I’d have asked. You will not consider it a solution.”

“Try me.” Cas just glowered at him.

Yeah... Dean was definitely pissed, not relieved.

“Quit being a fucking martyr and just tell us what our options are!”

Sam cut him off with his sensitive face. “Dean, just...”

“No, Sam. Cas may be an ‘honorary Winchester,’” Dean even busted out finger quotes on that one, just to piss Sam off, “but that doesn’t mean he gets to just let himself _die_ because he feels like it!”

Sam drew in a breath to tell Dean to shut up or something, but Cas beat him to the punch.

“You don’t know what you’re asking, Dean.”

“So fucking tell me.”

They locked eyes again, and no one moved for longer than was probably socially acceptable. Cas finally caved in with a long blink and ground out, “A human soul,” while his eyes were closed.

What?

“What?” Man, Sammy was on a roll.

“This wound, it’s...” Cas paused to find a word their itty-bitty human brains could handle, “...draining me. I could heal myself if I had the power, the energy, to do so.”

Dean lifted his eyebrows. “So you need to jump start your engine, that what you’re saying?”

Cas squinted and frowned, weighing the validity of the comparison. “Yes,” he confirmed.

Sam leaned forward. “And you can get that energy from human souls?”

Cas nodded again. “The human soul is fragile, but powerful. Each soul has more energy than you can imagine.”

Dean grinned. “Well, problem solved. Just plug into me or Sam and grab what you need.”

“It’s not that simple, Dean. Hell desiccated Sam’s soul. Besides that, manipulating a soul's energy is dangerous. It would be like touching a nuclear reactor.”

“Yeah, and trying to gank the devil was playing it safe," Dean retorted. "It's not like we haven’t done anything risky before, Cas.”

“That’s not all, Dean.” Cas pursed his lips. “The amount of energy I need... I can’t simply siphon it off of any soul. I’d need to have unfettered access to it, and the authority to take from it.”

“Okay... what’s that mean? You want a parking pass?”

Sam huffed. “Dude, he’s not a car.”

“Shut up, it makes sense to me.”

“It means that I would need to purchase the vehicle.”

Dean smirked at Sam, proud that Cas jumped onto his car metaphor, but then the words sunk in.

“Purchase... you mean you need some poor schmuck to sell you their soul? Like that kid and Balthazar?”

Cas nodded. “Which is why I knew you’d never consider it.”

Dean flipped Bobby’s chair around and straddled it. He rested both arms across the back, then caught Cas’s eyes. “Sam’s soul won’t work, you said. Because of Hell.”

“I need more power than his soul could survive giving right now, and I doubt it is strong enough in its current state to accommodate an angel's grace fastening to it.”

“Would mine work?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam’s head whip around, but he didn’t stop looking at Cas... who was not happy.

“Yes, but...”

“No buts, Cas. You’re not dying when I coulda done something about it.”

Cas leaned forward as much as he could. “Selling your soul did not end well for you the last time you – ”

Dean cut that argument off before Cas could get his logic rolling. “There’s a big difference between me selling my soul to a crossroads demon and _loaning_ it to you so you don’t bleed out.”

Dean glanced over at Sam, who didn't exactly look happy, but wasn’t vetoing this plan.

“Look Cas, I trust you, ‘kay? What more do you want? Let’s do this.” He stood up and moved the chair aside to show he meant business. Cas was dying, after all. They didn’t have time for all this committee-ing.

Cas gave Dean one of those intense gazes that make Dean believe the angel can see inside him. Normally it kind of makes him uncomfortable, but considering the circumstances, maybe Cas was just inspecting the goods.

Dean could pinpoint the exact moment Cas relented. The angel sighed, looked down, and collapsed back into the couch. “At the very least, this will tire you, provided I don’t accidentally kill you.”

“You’ll do fine.” Dean slapped a cocky grin on his face to reassure everyone in the room. “So, we shake on it, right?”

“Did you ‘shake on it’ the last time you sold your soul?” Was that a hint of sarcasm Dean heard? Great, he’d taught an angel the most annoying form of humor. Awesome.

He swallowed and glanced over at Sam before turning back to Cas. “Really? We have to kiss?”

Cas nodded once again, never breaking eye contact. “The physical action has spiritual meaning, just like bowing or kneeling. It is necessary for the transaction to be completed.”

Dean sighed and hung his head. “Ok. Let’s get it over with.” He walked over and flopped down onto the couch as Sam helped Cas sit upright. Turning to the side, Dean came face to face with a very pale, and slightly bloody, Cas-face. He squeezed his eyes shut and wrinkled his nose a bit in anticipation of whole new levels of uncomfortable as Cas closed the distance between their mouths (not that there’d been a whole lot of extra space to begin with).

Five or six thumping heartbeats later, and still no contact, Huston. Dean peeked one eye open and almost cracked his neck jerking his head backward. Cas was _right there_ , eyes open, not blinking, not moving. Hell, as far as Dean could tell, the dude wasn’t even breathing.

“The hell, Cas?”

Cas just sat there, looking at him. Okay, apparently this was a “two-way street” kinda deal. Dean could work with that.

Dean took a deep breath (definitely _not_ thinking about how he could smell Cas and hey... not horrible), and glanced at Sam. His brother met his gaze for an incredibly awkward second before inspecting Bobby's curtains and pretending he wasn't in the room. Dean swallowed, inhaled again, and leaned in.

It actually wasn’t as bad as he’d been thinking. The moment their lips mashed together, Cas came to life again, turning his head slightly to get a better angle, and they just stayed like that for a long second. Dean closed his eyes pretty quickly again though, because the alternative was just way too awkward.

Sooner than he’d expected, given his last deal-sealing kiss, Cas pulled away and Dean started breathing again. He was weirded out, but now he also totally got what Meg had said after her lip-lock with the angel. “Clean” was somehow the perfect word for it. He’d stab himself in the eye with a spork before he’d admit it, though.

“Okay, so... That it?”

“Yes. I’ve marked your soul as my own with my grace. That gives me the authority to use its power as I see fit.”

“Right. So, get healing!"

Castiel extended one hand toward Dean. "I will need to touch you directly in order to forge the connection required to sustain my grace with your soul's energy."

Dean shrugged his acceptance. "The sooner you get healthy, the sooner I get my soul back.”

Cas didn’t waste any time, and the next thing Dean knew Cas’s arm was buried to the wrist in his chest. He had a fraction of a second to gape before the pain of having Cas’s _arm in his chest_ blocked everything else out.

***

The first thing Bobby heard as he parked his ‘71 Chevelle, even before he cut the engine, was screaming. He couldn't leave those boys unsupervised for five minutes, damn it. Bobby reached around the bag of rare books he’d “borrowed” from the University of Sioux Falls Library and tugged a shotgun from beneath the passenger seat with one hand while shoving the driver’s-side door open with the other. By the time Bobby reached his front door, he'd recognized the hollering as coming from Dean. Bobby pumped the double-barrel in his hands and snuck inside his own house.

Bobby rounded the corner of the kitchen, bringing his den into view. The angel had his arm inside Dean’s chest. Before Bobby could intervene, Castiel eased his hand back to where it belonged, on the _outside_. Dean’s yells cut off and he sagged back against the couch, gasping for air. Bobby stepped forward. “So what’d I miss?” He didn’t lower his gun.

Sam looked up at him briefly, then back to Dean. Castiel didn’t look up at all. “Dean kinda... well, Bobby,” Sam stammered.

“Get on with it boy, I already figured out it ain’t anything _good_ , so just spit it out.”

“Dean sold his soul to me, allowing me to access its power to heal myself.” What pissed Bobby off the most wasn’t the words and the possible ramifications of the eldest Winchester being an idjit again (that was par for the course), it was the fact that the damn angel didn’t sound broken up about it at all. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at Bobby. He just peered at Dean’s face like it held the answer to the meaning of life or something. 

“Oh, ‘cause that makes sense,” Bobby quipped as he finally let the shotgun point at the floor.

“Actually it does, Bobby,” Sam looked up at him again. “Cas told me while he was doing it that he and Dean have some sort of ‘bond’ or something leftover from when he pulled him out of Hell, and that made it easier to siphon off power safely, or something.”

Yeah, the kid sounded real sure of himself, _or something_. “Cas?”

“Sam is right,” the angel affirmed as he turned his eyes to Bobby. “The connection between Dean’s soul and my grace made the transaction much easier.”

“‘Easier?’” Bobby pulled the gun back up. “That didn’t sound _‘easy,’_ angel!”

“Chill out, Bobby,” Dean didn’t open his eyes or lift his head from the couch, and he sounded like death. “Sam’s soul is low on battery at the moment, so we didn’t exactly have a lot of options here.”

Bobby grunted. “Sam, I picked up some books while I was out that might have some good info in ‘em about the ‘Heaven’s weapons’ situation. Mind grabbing ‘em outta my car?”

Dean opened his eyes and lifted his head at that. Sam's eyes darted from Dean, to Bobby, to Cas, and back to Dean. “Sure thing, Bobby.”

As Sam stood, Bobby heard him mutter, “Good luck, dude” at Dean, who grunted back and shifted his eyes over to Bobby again.

As Sam walked past, Bobby slapped the gun against the kid’s chest. “This goes under the front passenger seat.”

“‘kay.” Sam grabbed the barrel and shuffled outside.

The door slammed and silence compressed the air in the room for about five seconds before Dean blurted out, “Bobby look, I know you’re pissed...”

“Damn right I’m pissed, boy!” Bobby interrupted. “I thought you’d learned better! But no, you’re throwing your soul away to the first bidder again.”

“It’s not the same thing, Bobby!” Dean sat forward, one hand to his chest and a grimace on his face. “Look, Cas was _dying_. There wasn’t any other way.”

Bobby shook his head. There was just no getting through to the kid. Bobby was starting to think Dean would never figure out that he’s actually worth something on his own, not just for what he could do for other people. He sighed. “So, how long’s this deal last for?”

“Umm...” Dean side-eyed the angel, who turned his face away.

“There was no specified timeframe for our arrangement,” Castiel said to his hands.

Bobby rounded on Dean again. “So, lemme get this straight. You sold your soul for nothing with no end to the contract, no end-date attached? What the hell were you thinking, boy?”

“It’s _Cas_ , Bobby.” Dean couldn't come up with a better argument than that. “He’s gonna give it back as soon as he’s all healed up. Speaking of...” Dean turned toward the angel still perched next to him on the couch, “Why do you still look like shit? You did the oh-so-fun soul-fisting thing, so get healing!”

“I am,” Castiel looked back at Dean. “I am moving slowly so as to affect you less.”

“Well, I want my soul back, so hurry up.”

The angel looked away again, his hands twisting the hem of his trenchcoat. Dean and Bobby both eyed him for a long second before Dean spoke.

“Cas?” The angel just flexed his jaw. “Cas, you’re gonna give me my soul back when you’re done here, right?”

“I don’t think that would be the wisest course of action.”

Dean's whole face tightened like he’d just gotten punched in his already-messed up gut. Bobby wished he never passed the shotgun off to Sam. “Come again?” the older hunter growled.

Castiel's gaze shifted from his shoes to Bobby's face, then locked with Dean's again. “There’s no telling how long this war may go on. It is likely, if not inevitable, that I’ll be injured again.”

“So, what? You just thought you’d keep my soul as your reserve tank without asking?” Dean pushed himself off the couch and away from the angel. "Just how long are you planning on keeping it?"

"Until Raphael and his followers are no longer a threat to this world." The angel's voice went quiet. "It may be many years before I can eradicate the faction that seeks to start the Apocalypse."

Dean staggered and put one hand on Bobby's desk for support. “I trusted you not to take advantage, Cas.” Bobby hadn't heard the boy sound this betrayed since Sam's stint with Ruby.

“And I won’t, Dean.” Castiel stood to face both men. “It would be far more dangerous and unhealthy for your soul to be exchanged back and forth so many times. This is less risky.” Dean opened his mouth, but the angel held up a hand to silence him. “Do not try to tell me that you would not have repeated this were I to be gravely injured again. Sam’s soul will not be strong enough for years, if it ever fully recovers. You are not the type of man to let a friend die when you could be taking action.”

Dean glared. He didn't have a response to that. Bobby did. “This ain’t the kind of thing one friend does to another, angel.”

Sam chimed in from the kitchen. “You’re a dick for not asking him first, you realize that?” He walked over to Castiel. “But, you’re also right. I can’t help, and Dean’ll just do the same thing again, anyway.”

He put a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “Just, _ask_ next time, Cas, 'cause if you don't... Well, there's only so many times trust can be broken before you just can't fix it anymore.”

The angel nodded, then looked over at Dean (yet again, Jesus H. Christ, Bobby was starting to suspect feathers was harboring a crush). “I will endeavor to avoid pulling energy from your soul in the future, Dean, but I cannot guarantee it. My grace has already touched your soul, when I pulled you from Hell, and that may have unknown repercussions." He stepped closer to the hunter. "However, I promise you I will keep it safe.” The angel put a hand on Dean's shoulder. “I will keep _you_ safe.”

Dean stared back for a minute, then rolled his eyes and shoved the angel’s hand away. “Whatever, feathers, I can take care of myself.” Then he stumbled over his own two feet and nearly ended up on the floor.

Castiel grasped him by the shoulders and steadied him. “You should sleep now, Dean. Your soul needs the rest.”

Dean eyed the angel with his mouth hanging open in a yawn. “You fixin’ yourself up, Cas?”

“Yes, and I’ve recovered much of my energy, which means you need to rest.”

Bobby and Sam shared a look as Dean stubbornly shook his head. “We’re talking, though. I’m fine. Really.” Dean made an obvious effort to stand up straighter, but his eyes sunk to half-mast and he yawned again.

Bobby shook his head. “He sounded like this when he was six, too.”

Sam laughed and Bobby wagged a finger at him. “You were worse. An absolute terror at bedtime.”

“‘s only like, lunch o’clock,” Dean mumbled, listing sideways. Sam stepped over and put an arm out. “I’ll get him upstairs. He looks like he’s gonna fall over.”

“I’ll take him.” The angel slung one of Dean’s arms over his shoulder as the hunter’s eyes slipped closed and his head sagged onto Castiel's shoulder. The sight reminded Bobby of how they'd looked when they’d shown up a year ago in almost the same spot after Castiel beat the snot out of Dean for trying to say “yes” to Michael. 

Castiel met Bobby's gaze, then Sam's. “Thank you for still entrusting him to my care.” With a sound like a sheet flapping in the wind, the pair disappeared. A moment later Bobby heard a crash from the bedroom upstairs.

He sighed. “That’ll be the bedside lamp, I bet.”


	3. The Thing That Should Not Be

She followed the scratches. The jarring, abrasive vibrations against the thin _(so very thin)_ membrane between worlds. Between her world _(her cage)_ and that world. _His_ world. His precious, dirty, doomed world. His beautiful, terrible world that He banished her from when He left it to rot.

She followed the scratches, and the smell. The smell of some holy thing, one of His firstborn children _(not nearly as good as her firstborn children)_ wafting through from the other side to drift across her prison. She shared her cage with many dead things, things that hunted and killed beyond death, but none of them recognized the scent. They didn't know what it meant. They weren't old enough.

She followed the scratches, and the song. Choirs. That's what He had called them. Not children, choirs. The scratching one sang as it itched at the skin of this dark place. It sang to tell its kindred of its progress. She followed to where the song was loudest.

Here, the scratching and scraping have worn the barrier sheer as a spider's web. She watched, waited, until the shining holy thing departed. It left the wall of her prison penetrable.

She was less than smoke, just will and rage, but she had substance enough to push. To press. To squeeze. Until...

Space. So much space. And air. And light. And life.

Somewhere in this vastness filled with His living things there waited a dead thing that could hold her. Give her a form through which to wreak havoc, vengeance. She needed to find it.

***

Dean opened his eyes, blinking slowly to bring the world into focus. “The world” meaning Bobby’s spare bedroom, apparently. Huh. How’d he get upstairs? Not that Dean minded. The “spare” bedroom used to be the master suite, back before Karen died. Sammy usually got these digs when they stayed here, though, if they weren’t both too tired to walk up the stairs.

Grunting, Dean slowly stretched and shifted on the bed. He froze as he realized two things. First, he was naked except for the pair of boxers he’d been wearing the day before. Second, he couldn’t remember coming upstairs for bed yesterday, or much of yesterday at all, actually. He wasn't hung over, so booze wasn't the source of the short-term memory loss. Besides his muscles being a little stiff, he actually felt better than he had in a while.

Dean flailed an arm out and nabbed his cellphone off the nightstand. He squinted at the display to bring the numbers into focus. 10:04 a.m. Seriously? Sam hadn't let him sleep this late in a while. One of them was usually up by 7:00, which meant they were both up by 7:15 unless one of them was hurt.

Hurt. Cas. Shit.

Dean groaned and rubbed his face with his free hand. He lent his soul to an angel and got screwed. One of these days something good was going to happen in Dean’s life without any strings attached, and it’d turn out to be a sign of the next apocalypse or something. Dean sighed and pushed himself out of bed, plunking the phone back onto the scratched surface of the rickety nightstand. Dean stood and surveyed the room for his clothes. Rummaging around for his jeans and a shirt, he grumbled a terse prayer. “Cas, you around?”

Just as Dean finished pulling his jeans over his hips the air in the room shifted, accompanied by the tell-tail flapping sound of Cas’ wings. Dean didn’t turn around.

“So... I miss anything important after your soul-sucking routine knocked me out yesterday?”

The silence was so awkward Dean swore he could actually heard crickets chirping.

“Nothing of import, no,” Cas finally answered. “Sam and Bobby have been researching the weapon Raphael used to injure me in hopes of finding a counterspell or protection of some kind.” Cas turned his head to watch Dean, his face contrite. "I am sorry, Dean."

“Dude, _you stole my soul_!” Dean yanked his grey t-shirt over his head before Cas got too much of an eyeful and snatched his phone up. "Kinda too big for just 'I am sorry'."

“It’s not stolen, Dean! Our arrangement was your idea.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Cas! You know what I’m – ” Dean spun around to face the angel and stopped short. “Wow. Cas, man, you look like crap.”

The angel’s pale skin made the bags under his eyes even more pronounced than usual. He looked _tired_. Dean shrugged a flannel overshirt on. “I take it you weren’t helping with the research.”

“Not exactly.”

Dean dug through his pockets to check that his cell and wallet were in place, and waited for Cas to get the hint that he should keep talking. He cocked an eyebrow at the guy as he stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

“I carved protective symbols into the foundation of this house and a few other places in the surrounding area. It took more energy than I anticipated.”

Dean tilted his head at that. “Angel-proofing Bobby’s place drained your mojo?”

Cas nodded and Dean's stomach dropped. He clenched his jaw and locked eyes with Cas. “You’re still leaking, aren’t you?”

The angel broke eye contact.

“Damn it, Cas! I thought we fixed this! Wasn’t that the whole point of the deal?”

“I was not able to completely heal myself,” Cas met Dean’s eyes again. “Not without destroying you. I need more time, more energy.”

Dean nodded back, understanding. “My soul doesn’t have the juice, I get it.” He sunk down on the bed and rubbed one hand down his face. “You’re still dying.” It wasn’t a question, but Cas answered anyway.

“Yes.”

Dean hung his head. Once, just _once_ he’d like a break. Too much to ask, apparently.

“The pain is not as severe as before,” Cas stepped so close that Dean felt the trench coat brush his knees. “I am able to... staunch the hemorrhaging from the wound in my grace so long as I don’t exert myself.”

Dean huffed. “Cas, dying slow as long as you don’t use too much mojo isn’t exactly a huge step up from dying fast.”

“But it _is_ a step up.” Cas drew a deep breath. “You helped, Dean, and I thank you for that.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. That sounded way more contrite than it should have. An awful thought struck him and Dean looked up at Cas. “You _knew_ didn’t you? That my soul couldn’t fix you. You knew I wasn't strong enough, but you still didn’t tell me you’d have to keep it.”

"I suspected." Cas looked away again. “As much power as human souls hold, Dean, they are not the same as an angel’s grace.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean heard himself whisper.

“It was never my intention to deceive you, Dean.”

Dean sneered. “Dude, you told some pretty big lies of omission yesterday. You tricked me.”

Cas's calm exterior cracked. "I did not trick you, Dean!" he bellowed. "You were the one who refused to enter into this cautiously."

"Yeah, well, you didn't exactly try very hard to explain the fine print."

Cas's hands tightened into fists, then fell slack as he drew a deep breath. The angel reached up and rested a loose hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I will keep my promises to you, Dean. Your soul will be kept safe, and I _will_ return it to you as soon as I am able.”

Dean shook his head and tried to shrug Cas's hand off. “The real kicker is, I’d still have said ‘yes’. If you’d’ve asked me, I’d’ve said ‘yes’.” Cas's grip tightened.

Dean shifted his gaze to the hand still on his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. It took the angel a moment, but Cas finally said “oh” and stepped back.

Dean sighed and picked at his nails. “Look, I get that you need your all-access pass to my soul, but why the hell don’t you go look for a better one now that you’re not in such a pinch? I mean, mine can’t be the best you can do.”

Dean knew he sounded like a hypocrite, but there was a difference between going into this eyes wide open and being tricked, by _Cas_ of all people.

“Dean.” Cas’s gravel voice was layered with meaning that Dean wasn’t interested in decoding.

“Look, if I don’t have the juice you need to boost your mojo, just pick someone else.”

The bed shifted and Dean’s head jerked up as the angel settled beside him.

“Who would you suggest?” Cas’s eyes never left Dean’s face.

“Fuck, I don’t know, Cas! You’re the angel.” Dean shook his head and looked at peeling paint on the wall. “Just flap around and look for some poor bastard whose soul doesn’t look like it’s been through a meat grinder.”

Cas narrowed the corners of his eyes, tilted his head, and peered at Dean. “You have no idea of the condition of your soul.”

Dean shrugged. It wasn't exactly a question, but... “You don’t have to give me all the gory details, Cas. I remember Hell.” He smiled ruefully. “Famine already gave me the run-down, anyway.” He gestured at his chest. “Whatever used to be in here, gas tank’s pretty much empty, now," he confessed. "Got too many cracks of my own, I guess.”

Silence. When Dean got up the courage to look at him, Cas was studying the wall across from them like it had the meaning of life graffitied on it. “Dean, if we survive this war, and I'm still... If I am able, at the end, I will show you what I see when I look at you.”

Dean’s awesomely sarcastic response (well, it would have been if Cas had given him time to come up with one) died in his throat as Cas turned those blue laser-beam eyes back on him, his expression bordering on awe.

“Your soul _shines_ , Dean," Cas marvelled. "It’s been strengthened and polished by all you’ve been through, like a rock smoothed by flowing water. You’ve lost nothing of yourself to the horrors you’ve experienced.”

What the hell was Dean supposed to say to that?

“Right, well...” Dean cleared his throat and stood up. “Bobby and Sam probably want help with the research, so, um...”

Cas looked up at Dean, that hint of wonder still on his face.

“Okay, then.” Dean headed downstairs, and if he paused at the door to make sure he heard Cas following him, well, that wasn't really anybody else’s business, now was it?

***

Sam curls himself into the tiniest ball he can. _Present a smaller target._ Sounds like thunder and screaming echo all around him. He covers his ears. _Won’t hear them coming._

Won’t matter.

Something claws at him. Rakes through him. Tears him. _He’s ripping me to pieces._

Sam screams. There’ll be nothing left of him. He doesn’t want to be nothing.

_Help me! Please, help me!_

He doesn’t know who he’s screaming for. All he can do is scream. Something new grips him tight.

Sam jerked awake on Bobby’s couch, already sitting up, and nearly fell off. He panted, looking around to make sure nobody had witnessed his freak-out. Sam knew that Dean would want to know about this, but what could he really do to help? Sam already knew the only medicine they had. Death’s words echoed in his head. _Don’t scratch the wall._

“Don’t scratch, Sam,” he reminded himself quietly. It didn’t really help, so he headed back to research as a distraction. He’d tell Dean later. His brother was probably still sleeping, anyway.

***

Sam looked up from one of the tomes Bobby had “borrowed” from the Christian college’s library archives when he heard Dean coming down the stairs, angel in tow. “Get your beauty rest, Dean?” he teased.

Dean flipped him off as he walked past on his way to the kitchen. Sam shook his head and looked back at the text. He heard the fridge open, then Dean. “Hey Cas, you want a beer?”

“Dude, it’s like 10 a.m.” Sam threw a questioning look at Cas, silently wondering when Dean started offering beers to angels.

“Whatever, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere. Cas?”

“Um,” Cas flicked wide eyes between Sam’s face and Dean’s back. “No, thank you, Dean,” he finally finished.

“So, research boy,” Dean said, ambling back into the den with a beer in one hand, three slices of cold leftover pizza stacked in the other, “What’d I miss?”

“Well, Bobby and I think we’ve nailed down the weapon Raphael used on Cas.” Sam was pretty proud of that, actually. It had taken a lot of digging in dozens of sources. “It’s called ‘Elhiym Yad’ in the original Hebrew, but I’ve found more recent references to it as ‘Deus Manu’ in the Latin.”

Dean blinked at him. “Gesundheit.”

Sam rolled right on past Dean’s sarcasm into full-on excited geek mode. “It means ‘the hand of God’ and a couple of the references I found are actually from the Bible.”

“Fascinating. How’s it work and, more importantly, how do we stop it?” Dean asked around a mouthful of pizza.

Sam ran both hands through his hair. “That’s where it gets messy. From what I’ve found so far, it seems like it needs to recharge after every use, or something.”

“Recharge?” Dean pulled a face. “The hell’s one of Heaven’s weapons run on? Double-As?”

Sam huffed. “I wish.”

He spun the book around so Cas could see it. “I could use some help with this one, Cas.” He pointed to the word _tzadiyk’yad_ , barely visible on the ancient scroll pictured in the textbook. Google translate (as well as every other translator program Sam had tried, including Bobby Singer(TM)) hadn’t helped. They all gave garbled results that made no sense in context.

Cas’ face creased as he read. “The word itself has several meanings, but I suspect the one most likely here is ‘innocent’.”

“That makes sense,” Sam took back the book and entered “innocent” into his translation. “Okay, so that makes it: ‘They beheld the souls of the innocent in the Hand of God, and no torment touched them.’ So, this thing must somehow weaponize the power in innocent souls, and to keep it going you have to keep reloading.”

Sam grinned at having solved the problem. He looked up at his brother. Dean tilted his head and stepped forward, jaw clenching. Sam’s grin slipped.

“So basically, this ‘Hand of God’ thing chews up kids’ souls and spits them out as nukes?” He sounded _pissed_.

Sam couldn’t believe he hadn’t looked at it that way himself. He’d just been proud he'd figured it out. Now he felt a bit queasy.

“That’s just sick, Cas,” Dean ranted, “Even for your Dad!”

The angel’s chin came up. “Don’t assume this was my Father’s intention, Dean.”

Dean stepped right into Cas’ personal space (if angels even had that). “Seems pretty cut and dried to me. What else could this thing possibly be used for, huh?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” The angel growled each word like its own sentence. “Dean, all I know is that my Father would not build something that required the destruction of souls. They are meant to be immortal.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, ‘cause your Dad’s such a peach.”

Sam watched the angel’s nostrils flare and decided Dean needed a little help to not get himself smited... Smote? Smitted? Whatever, Cas looked about two seconds away from wrath.

“Look, it doesn’t matter how it’s supposed to be used.” He spread his hands a bit. “It matters how Raphael’s using it now. So, can we work on that, please?”

For a moment, Sam didn’t think he got through to either of them. Hunter and angel kept staring each other down, crowding one another’s personal space, two of the most stubborn people Sam had ever met.

Finally, Dean rolled his eyes and stuffed the rest of his pizza in his mouth, turning back to Sam.

“So, how do we stop it?” Sam had to interpret Dean’s meaning from long practice at figuring out what his brother said around mouthfuls of food.

“Well, there’s nothing really clear in any of the lore, but get this...” Sam grabbed a couple pages off the top of a stack next to his laptop. “I started looking up places Cas told me and Bobby that Raphael had used the Hand, and all of them had major power outages around the same time.”

Dean swallowed hard at that. “Ninja turtle knocked out power on the eastern seaboard when Cas and I trapped him that one time... maybe it’s him being flashy.”

“It is a solid lead.” Cas’ tone practically defined the word ‘grave’.

“Alright then,” Sam opened up his laptop, “We look for power outages. Cas, you’re on call for Angel Air transport if something comes up, otherwise we’ll never get there in time.”

“Will you have the mojo for that, Cas?” Dean's sounded genuinely concerned. His attitude toward the angel gave Sam whiplash sometimes.

Cas nodded. “Yes.”

Sam grinned. “Okay, then. Dean and I’ll keep looking for ways to stop this thing so we don’t get creamed when Raphael finally shows his face.”

Dean groaned. “I fucking hate research.” But he snatched a book (albeit a very small book) from the pile next to Sam, anyway. He glanced at the title and sighed. _“A Treatise on Ancient Texts_ , oh, goody... my favorite.”

“Quit whining and read, jerk.”

“Get me more food, bitch.”

Sam couldn’t help but smile again. He just couldn’t tell Dean about his nightmares. Oh, he will eventually... just, not now. He’ll wait for a better time.

***

Nightshift sucked. Seriously, Ronnie could be out at a bar right now mingling with the girls from Alpha Phi. Instead, he was stuck here at the city morgue babysitting stiffs. Not his idea of a great Friday night. But his boss, Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Mia Scott, cruelly scheduled him for two Friday overnights in a row. Bitch.

Nothing in the first three and a half years of Drake's pre-med undergrad program had convinced Ronnie that the morgue actually needed to do inventory. The doors were always locked and it was in the basement of a busy-ass hospital. I mean, it wasn't like anybody could break in and steal bodies (which, eww, by the way), and the dead guys themselves sure as hell weren't gonna get up and walk away.

Ronnie checked the bodies off the list attached to his clipboard (a freaking _clipboard_ \- couldn't they at least shell out for an iPad?) as he opened each fridge drawer and checked the toe tag and preliminary COD.

_Lois Johnson, Female, 89, stroke_  
Dewayne Anderson, Male, 56, coronary disease  
Shawna Williams, Female, 21, epileptic seizure 

Shame, that last one. Ronnie thought she'd be hot if she weren't dead. Skinny, blonde, pretty face, bright blue eyes. Wait. Eyes?!

"Aaaah!" Ronnie screamed and dropped the clipboard as the dead girl's hand latched onto his neck, her eyes still boring into his. Without releasing him, she slowly sat up, the sheet falling off her shoulders. Even terrified of the _fucking zombie choking him_ , Ronnie couldn't keep his eyes from dropping to her bare chest.

He had just enough time to think getting that weird tattoo on her sternum must've hurt before he heard his own neck snap.

It took him much longer than it should have (he's pre-med, for Christ's sake) to realize that he ought to be dead right now.

_You are dead, Ronnie._

He looked up at the girl's face. Her voice resounded in his skull, and it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. "Who are you?" he tried to ask, but it came out as a huff of air.

_I am Ishtar, and my dead do not speak except with my voice._

Huh. Ronnie couldn't hear his heartbeat, and he definitely wasn't breathing. He took his own pulse just to verify... Yup. He really was dead.

_Ishtar's smile was terrible. You are dead, which means you are mine._

She turned and walked toward the door, so naturally Ronnie followed her. Behind them, he heard the 81-year-old stroke victim and 56-year-old heart attack rise and follow after.


	4. Be Still

Dean was testy. He, Sam, and Cas just spent a week at Bobby's researching and waiting for major power outages, and all they had to show for it was an empty fridge and short tempers. Dean sighed and slammed his current bust of a book closed. "That's another..." he glanced at his watch, "six hours of my life down the drain." Dean sat up from where he'd been lounging on Bobby's couch and tossed the book onto the towering discard pile. "Seriously, guys. We've been through Bobby's whole library by now. If there was something here, we'd have found it."

Sam massaged the back of his neck with one hand, jotting down a note with the other. "I hate to admit it, but I think you're right," he said. "We need to find out more about this weapon, but we just don't have the resources here."

Cas closed his own book. "Perhaps we simply need a new source, then." He wore his shifty, 'I'm being a sneaky angel' look.

Dean was always suspicious of that look. "What'd you have in mind, Cas?"

The angel looked him in the eye. "Not what. Who."

Dean cocked his head, eyebrows scrunched.

Sam got it, though. "Balthazar." He tossed the pen he'd been scribbling notes with back onto Bobby's desk and walked over to Cas. "He stole a bunch of weapons from Heaven, so you think he might have taken inventory before he bailed?"

Castiel nodded. "Aside from Virgil, the Weapon's Keeper of Heaven, Balthazar is the foremost expert on the subject."

Dean shook his head and pushed himself off the couch. "That prick hates our guts. No way he helps us."

Cas's chin came up. "He also owes me a debt. I believe he will honor that."

They needed a tiebreaker. Dean and Cas's heads turned toward Sam like they shared a swivel. Sam swallowed.

"Dean and I aren't exactly in Balthazar's fanclub, Cas, and he's definitely not in ours..." Sam sighed. "But if you think it's worth a shot, I say we go for it."

"Excellent. I will summon him immediately." The angel looked at Dean (a bit smugly, too, Dean thought). "I will need myrrh."

Dean rolled his eyes and marched off to grab the myrrh from Bobby's pantry, mouthing "traitor" at Sam as he passed.

Cas made quick work of the angelic summoning spell. A few awkward moments passed, where Dean silently hoped the v-necked dick wouldn't show.

"Haven't you lot ever heard of a telephone?" No such luck, apparently.

Dean was just about to tell the guy to stow the sarcasm, when Balthazar's face switch from cynical to serious. "My god, Cassie. You look terrible." The angel rounded on Dean. "What did you monkeys do to him?!"

Before Dean could react, Balthazar had him up against the wall, a fist in his collar.

"Let him be, Balthazar," Castiel commanded. "I was injured by Raphael."

Balthazar dropped Dean, who glared at Cas for a second. He didn't need rescuing. He wasn't a goddamn princess for fuck's sake. Dean straightened up and pushed himself away from the wall. "Hello to you too, asshole," he spat at Balthazar. "Cas looks like hell because your dick older brother hit him with one of Heaven's weapons. Maybe you know something about that."

Sam stepped in before things got (more) violent. "We're just looking for information," he explained, puppy dog eyes out in full swing. "Cas said you're something of an expert."

Balthazar tore his gaze away from Castiel and shifted between Sam and Dean. "I might know something about something. Which weapon was it?"

"Our brother wielded the Elhiym Yad against my forces in our last battle."

Balthazar whistled a low note. "I know that one, yes. I'm actually surprised you're still standing. Or still existing at all, really."

Something passed between the two angels. Dean didn't like it. Their little silent conversation was weirding him out. "I sold him my soul, okay," he blurted out to break the silence. "Cas is recharging using me."

Balthazar's eyebrows went up, but his gaze didn't leave Cas's face. "So that's how it is," he murmured. Cas put on his best poker face, which was terrible. Dean's confused gaze shifted between the two angels as he tried to figure out what it was Cas was trying to hide. Clearly Dean was missing something here.

Before the tension in the room could get any thicker, Sam sliced through it. "Balthazar, do you know anything about the Deus Manu that might help us against Raphael? Anything at all?"

Balthazar kept his staring contest with Cas going for a long second, then he sighed, apparently not liking what he saw. "Sorry boys, no can do. That weapon was in the section labelled 'don't fuck with this shit' so I steered clear. If there's nothing else..."

Dean lunged forward and grabbed the flakey angel's arm. "Don't you dare take off without telling us anything. You may think jack shit of me and Sam, but Cas is your friend. Fucking act like it!"

Balthazar shoved him off. "That's rich, coming from you, ape. Do you have any idea what Cassie's done to himself by tying his grace to you?"

"Balthazar, that's enough," Cas cut in.

"Cassie," Balthazar started.

"I said enough," Castiel growled, ending the discussion. Dean wanted to press Cas for more information, because if the idiot somehow hurt himself by asking Dean for help instead of someone with a better soul, so help him... But, Dean knew from the look on Cas's face that now was not a good time. Good thing he had something else to interrogate Balthazar about.

"Well, if you don't know anything about Raphael's new toy, what can you tell us about why angels are suddenly buying up human souls? We know you're in that game."

Balthazar did not look thrilled at Dean's choice of topic. Sam just looked puzzled. "Dean, that's a little off topic, isn't it?"

Dean shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But Death, you know the _Horseman_ Death, he thought it was worth looking into." _That_ sure got everyone's attention.

"What? When did Death talk to you about souls?" Sam asked.

"Right after he put yours back where it belongs." Dean was glad to see his name-drop shook Balthazar up a bit. The winged douche gulped and glanced from Dean to Cas and back again.

"You have friends in unexpectedly high places, Dean Winchester."

Dean twisted one hand back and forth in a "maybe" gesture. "Friends might be too strong a word," Dean locked eyes with the angel, "but he was mighty interested in what you and the other wanna-be crossroads demons have been up to."

Balthazar glared and pressed his lips together. Dean decided to push his luck a little more. "C'mon, Balthy. Caring and sharing time. Otherwise I'm gonna have to go back to the boss and tell him you wouldn't squeal."

Balthazar closed his eyes. "Cassie, bring your pet to heel before I lose my temper."

Castiel placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and raised one eyebrow a millimeter. Dean backed off, reluctantly. One more look at Sam's sincerest sincere puppy dog eyes, and Balthazar decided he didn't want to be on Death's bad side, after all.

"You know that I've only bargained for a few souls in an attempt to save my own ass. As for the rest, Raphael seems to think that whomever wields the Elhiym Yad needs to own the soul supplying its bullets. Big brother has his henchmen buying up any innocent souls that are on the market." He sighed, then looked as Castiel. "There's one more thing, and please don't get yourself killed because of this, Cassie. Raphael's not just looking to reload his latest weapon with souls. He has his lackeys searching for other sources of souls, ones that he wouldn't need to buy. If he gets hold of them, Cassie..."

"I'm dead, along with all of my followers." Castiel nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. Dean could've sworn in that moment that his angel carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Be careful, Cassie." Then Balthazar was gone.

Sam rounded on Dean. "Maybe the next time you have a heart to heart with _Death_ you could let me know?!"

Cas didn't sound any happier. "That is pertinent information that should be shared, Dean."

Dean threw up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! Next time friggin' Death shows up to give me an assignment you two'll be the first to know."

Sam ran his fingers through his (too-long) hair. "So, you're what, researching souls for Death?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess. He told me to find out who's buying them and why, especially angels."

"How many souls have claims on them, Dean?" Cas stared into the distance, clearly onto something.

"I don't know," Dean replied, edging closer to Cas. "It sounded like a lot."

"It'd have to be way more than usual to get Death's attention, right?" Sam reasoned.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, and I suspect with what Balthazar mentioned about Raphael looking for more even more souls, now we know why his troops have been laying claims."

Sam and Dean exchanged baffled looks. Castiel adjusted his stance, leaning toward the two hunters before delivering his conclusion. "Raphael is storing up munitions. He is planning a war."

Dean glanced at Sam, who bit his lip, then looked back at Cas. "No offense, Cas, but are you that big a threat? It sounds like ninja turtle's really mobilizing."

Cas shook his head, solemn. "I am not."

"Then what's he gearing up for?" Sam asked.

None of them had a good answer.

***

For probably the hundredth time in two hours, Sam thanked his lucky stars that Cas didn’t share Dean’s taste in music. Maybe he should thank his guardian angel instead... Ha. After Balthazar left, Sam focused on the search for power outages and missing persons reports for children. That led them to Ellensburg, a town about two hours east of Seattle, pretty quickly. Five missing kids in as many days, and power surges strong enough to black out the south side of Seattle.

Since Balthazar hadn't had any useful information on the Hand of God, their _brilliant_ plan was: “snatch the Deus Manu out from under the archangel’s nose, and don’t get killed.” Unsurprisingly, Castiel didn’t exactly approve of this plan, but he’d flown Dean and Sam across the country this morning anyway (Bobby had a zombie thing to take care of in Dubuque). Then Cas had tracked Raphael’s grace to a ramshackle office building on the edge of what passed for the small town’s business district. Then the three of them packed into an abandoned (but running, kind of) Pinto and settled in for a stakeout.

Four hours in and still no signs of intelligent life inside the abandoned warehouse... and not too many inside the Pinto, either, Sam thought. Rain dripped in from the cracks in the car's seals and their breath misted in the cold air, but the crappy weather was really no excuse for how testy Dean was being right now. His brother bitched about Sam’s choice in music all the time (whatever, Jason Manns is an under-appreciated genius), but falling back on his “driver picks the music” bullshit grated on Sam's last nerve.

“The tonal quality of this music is more pleasant to hear than your choice, Dean,” and _heck yes_ the angel liked Sam’s music better than AC/DC. Unfortunately, Cas prevented Sam from gloating by waving his fingers to silence the music from the backseat.

“Dude, did you just mojo the radio?” Dean glared.

Cas's face implied he couldn’t believe Dean had to ask. “Silence is preferable. We _are_ on a... stakeout.”

Dean turned the knob to play the radio again, but nothing happened. He twisted the dial back and forth, but not even static came out of the speakers.

“Cas...” Sam winced at Dean’s growl. Doesn’t his throat hurt sometimes? Maybe he should’ve just let Dean play his classic rock. Things had been tense enough between Dean and his angel recently.

“Fix whatever the hell you did to the radio. I’m bored to death, here!”

“No.”

“Fuck you.”

“Dean – ”

“No. I don’t want your fucking excuses. Fix the damn car or leave me alone!”

Sam leaned forward, staring at the warehouse. “Guys...”

“Dean you are being unreasonable.”

“Screw unreasonable. I love that song!”

Sam pressed his binoculars to his eyes. “Guys.”

“Sometimes I think you enjoy listening to your music than you enjoy my company.”

“Dude, that doesn’t even make any sense. Apples and oranges.”

Sam reached over and smacked Dean in the side with his free hand. “Guys!”

“Christ Sam, what?!”

Sam pointed at the only visible window on the ground level of the abandoned office building. A faint light that hadn’t been there before glowed from the inside the supposedly empty building.

“I will look into it,” Cas intoned.

“Well, you’re not going by yourself again.” Dean shoved the driver’s side door open and climbed out of the Pinto. “You already dodged a bullet finding the joint, and we’re not lucky enough for two solo missions on one hunt. Sammy, watch our six.”

And then Sam was alone in the car.

He banged his forehead against the dash. If Dean was a whirlwind by himself, he and Cas together were a freaking hurricane. Sam sighed and slid into the driver's seat. _Well, lookout duty it is._ He knew Dean just didn’t want him “straining himself” or something right after getting his soul back, but still... He hadn’t been relegated to car duty since he was fourteen.

 _I know, right?_ Sam’s eyes snapped to the driver’s seat Dean left empty. _Big brothers can be such a pain in the ass, can’t they, Sam?_ The devil met Sam’s wild stare. _Never there when you need them, always there when you don’t want them,_ Lucifer whined.

“Stay away from me!” Sam tried the door next to him, but it wouldn’t open. The window didn’t budge, either.

He turned back toward Lucifer. “How did you get out?”

The devil raised an eyebrow. _How did you?_

“Dean made a deal with Death – ”

 _That’s how your soul got sprung,_ Lucifer interrupted, waving his hand as if shooing away a pesky fly. _What about your body, Sam? Who do you think kicked your meat out of my cage?_

Sam strained against the window, trying not to feel trapped. Lucifer chuckled. _You_ are _trapped, Sammy. Not gonna get out until I say so..._

“What do you want? Go away!”

The devil shook his head slowly. _Oh, Sam, you disappoint me. We’ve been through this. I want you to say “yes.”_

“Never.”

 _Hm. Your definition of “never” may need some adjustment, seeing as you’ve already let me in once._ Satan leered at him. _Remember how much fun that was? I do._

Sam rammed a trembling fist against the window. He heard a crack and thought he might have broken through it until pain flashed up his arm.

_Getting the party started early, are we Sam? If I’d known you were that eager for pain, we’d’ve had this little reunion much sooner._

Sam ground his teeth together. “You’re not getting back in me, so just go back to Hell where you belong!”

Lucifer pursed his lips. _Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen, Sam. As long as you’re topside, I’m topside._

Sam’s insides turned cold. “What?”

 _We’re a matched set, Sammy!_ Lucifer leaned in toward him until Sam couldn’t back away any further. _I told you, MFEO, joined at the hip..._ Then he started singing. _“Wherever you go, whatever you do...”_

The “I will be right here waiting for you” sounded much more romantic and a lot less terrifying when Richard Marx sang it. Sam swallowed.

“You’re not real,” he tried. “I’m just having a really, really vivid flashback.” He dragged a hand over his face. The devil didn’t disappear.

Instead, Lucifer pulled a knife out of thin air. A knife so long it probably should be called a sword.

_That hurts my feelings, Sam. Of course I’m real. Let me show you._

Sam tensed. “You’re not real!” he yelled. He yelled even louder when Lucifer started slicing into his skin.

***

Despite still being ticked at the angel for the whole “borrowing his soul indefinitely without permission” thing, Dean was really, really glad for the backup as he stared down at the clusterfuck he and Cas discovered in the office building.

“Shit.” That was the best summary Dean could come up with. They’d snuck into the first floor of the building by climbing through a busted window. After that, it hadn’t taken them long to find the source of the light Sam had seen from the car. The majority of the building’s basement had been cleared of debris and then painted floor to ceiling with sigils and lit with dozens of candles. It kinda reminded Dean of Bobby’s artwork in that barn the first time he’d first laid eyes on Cas. Well, first time not in Hell, anyway. Not that Dean could remember the in-Hell version of events.

In the center of the floor Dean saw a kid strapped to an upright rack, spread-eagled and struggling. His baseball uniform was already stained with dirt and blood. He wasn't more than nine years old, and Dean heard him crying even through the gag stuffed in his mouth.

Beyond the kid, half a dozen cronies tinkered with God-only-knows-what on a table, but Dean would bet an arm they were setting up for the ritual to recharge the batteries in the Hand of God. _What a stupid name for a weapon,_ Dean thought, not for the first time.

Raphael stood between the kid and the staircase, an ancient book in her hands. And yeah, apparently the archangel's Plan B meatsuit was a chick. Not that it made him (her? Whatever, Dean wasn't going to worry about it) any less imposing.

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean turned his head slightly to see his friend, hunkered down next to him behind a few empty and upturned filing cabinets piled in front of the stairs that led down to the basement floor. “Better call in the cavalry, man,” he whispered. “This is serious shit.”

“I don’t think mounted soldiers would be tactically advantageous in this scenario, Dean.”

Dean glared. “You know what I mean. Quick fucking around! There’s a scared kid down there.”

Cas looked back at the scene below them. Raphael walked toward the struggling boy, chanting in a language Dean didn’t recognize, but it definitely wasn’t Enochian. “There’s no one for me to call,” Cas murmured.

“What about all the angels you suckered into this civil war versus ninja turtle down there?”

Cas closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Every one of my brothers who joined me in this cause has either surrendered or been killed, many both.” When he opened his eyes and looked at Dean, there were actually tears there. “I am only grateful there were not multitudes of them to begin with. It was foolish of me to attempt a direct assault, and now I regret ever involving my brothers.”

_Damn._

“I’m sorry, Cas.” The words were too small, but they were the only ones Dean could think of.

“I...” The angel looked away again, and Dean almost couldn’t hear the rest. “I had hoped to receive help from my Father.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. _If God does exist, I’m gonna kill him._ “Great.” Dean ran a hand down his face. “So you’re frickin’ Custer.” He surveyed the basement again, his brain automatically checking for exists and maneuverability. “Guess it’s Last Stand time, then.” He reached for his cell. “I’ll text Sammy, have him bring in some ammo. If we set up some banishing sigils, I think we stand a chance.” Which was total bullshit, but Cas didn’t need to know that.

Before Dean could even pull his phone out of his pocket, Cas’s hand closed like a vice around his wrist. “No, Dean.” Dean opened his mouth to tell Cas just what he could do with his “No, Dean” when Raphael got to the part of the ritual that evidently required the angel to speak in his true voice.

The remaining intact windows in the building exploded and Dean curled into a ball, covering his ears against the screeching. He felt Cas’ hands cover his own and it helped, a little. Dean still felt like he'd stuck his head inside a church bell, though.

The sound finally cut out and all Dean could hear was the ringing in his ears. He peeked back down the stairs. Raphael stood directly in front of the kid now, face to face almost. The boy wasn’t struggling anymore. He hung limply from the straps, but his eyes were open. Open, and glowing. _What the fuck?_

Cas’ hands moved away from Dean’s ears and he put a finger to his lips. Dean tried to ask “what the fuck?” without speaking, knowing he’d be too loud with his hearing shot. Cas leaned close and spoke in Dean’s ear. He must have used mojo, too, because his voice came through loud and clear to Dean’s deaf ears. “The spell Raphael used has brought the human child’s soul forth. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” He grabbed Dean’s wrist and pulled. “There is nothing more we can do. We must leave immediately.”

“No fucking way.” Dean didn’t care that he barely heard himself. He would not leave that kid down there to die, or worse.

“Hush!” Cas hissed in Dean’s ear. His hand flew up to grip Dean’s left arm just below the shoulder, right over the place where he’d been marked by Cas before the angel got re-winged and healed him head to toe at Stull Cemetery.

Dean pulled against Cas’s impossible grip. “That kid’s not going to get turned into a fucking _battery_ because I didn’t do anything to stop it!”

“We don’t know how to stop it. You cannot fight against this right now.” Cas tightened his hold, but Dean kept struggling. The angel snarled as he lost his patience and pushed Dean up against the file cabinet, keeping his hand on the mark. “ _Be still,_ Dean!”

Dean felt a flash of heat where Cas held his arm and his words hit Dean’s core like a double shot of off-brand tequila. A quick, liquid burning followed by a tingling, numbing lethargy. He felt Cas release him, but Dean no longer possessed any desire to move. It was taxing enough to force his sluggish eyes to track Cas’ movement back to the stairs for a better vantage point.

Dean slumped back against the cabinet, staring as Cas returned to watching Raphael. Dean knew, somewhere quiet and deep, that he should be pissed beyond belief at Cas for doing this to him, that he should be down there doing his damnedest to kill that bastard Raphael, but the part of him that demanded that of him had been silenced, all his motivation shoved behind an impregnable wall in the back of his mind.

Dean registered one final thought before his brain shut down completely... When this _whateverthehell_ wore off, Cas was gonna have hell to pay.

***

Castiel watched his older brother channel the power from a human child’s soul and transfer it into a weapon of destruction, and he did nothing to stop it. It felt like shredding his grace inside of him, but if Castiel had learned one thing from his short, futile war against Raphael it was to choose his battles wisely.

This was not a battle he and Dean could win, or even survive. Raphael held a fully charged weapon of Heaven in his hands and enough angels around him to ensure he would have time to use it. Castiel would not sacrifice Dean’s life, or his own, for the soul of the poor child below. He could not.

He did note the presence of a reaper, lurking in the corner of the warehouse. He hoped it meant the child merely died as a result of the spell draining his energy, rather than suffering the annihilation of his eternal soul.

The angels below him busied themselves either destroying or storing the remaining ingredients from the ritual. Castiel knew they would leave nothing behind for him to find or use. Raphael himself stretched his wings to leave. Castiel gripped Dean’s arm and flew them back to the car.

Dean will be upset with him for stilling his mind. Castiel never anticipated his command to Dean's soul would carry such a dramatic weight. He pondered the phenomenon in the immeasurable time of their flight. He had not accounted for the fact that he currently owned Dean’s soul. Perhaps their deepened connection amplified the effect of whatever touches his grace and Dean’s soul exchanged. He decided to experiment later, if Dean was ever amenable to the idea. The possibilities intrigued him.

Their bond between soul and grace was itself unique in Castiel's experience. Other angels had used human souls for similar purposes in the past, their energy supplementing the angels' enough to make healing otherwise mortal wounds possible. The soul provided the energy necessary to sustain celestial existence so that the angel could focus his own power on self-healing. If Castiel and Dean's connection was like those others, eventually Dean's soul would have supplied enough energy for Castiel to fully heal the wound in his grace. At that point, his ownership of Dean's soul would become redundant.

But, no Winchester ever did anything the ordinary way. Dean's soul had readily accepted the connection to Castiel's grace. More than that, he seemed to revel in it, forcing the channel between them open wide whenever Castiel's own energy faltered. Castiel tried not to be pleased by how much Dean's spirit cared about his wellbeing. Such feelings were dangerous, though not to Dean.

Castiel knew without a doubt that he could not hurt Dean through their bond. Most likely, his miscalculation in calming the hunter would simply result in a few hours of mindless tranquility. Castiel already felt Dean’s soul beginning to shake off the influence of his grace. Soon, Dean would return to his normal state. _He’ll go back to shouting at me, as usual._

An instant after disappearing from the office building, Castiel reappeared beside their “borrowed” vehicle. Just as he settled Dean on the ground beside the car, Sam thrashed violently within, screaming in pain.

“Sam!” Castiel could not sense the source of Sam’s agony, but he rushed inside to attempt to stop it, regardless. When his hand brushed Sam’s forehead, three things happened at once.

Sam’s eyes snapped open and he stopped screaming.

Dean barked out a surprised laughed from where he sprawled outside.

Castiel sensed his eldest brother for the first time in millennia. He didn’t consciously whisper the name, but it came unbidden from his lips.

“Michael.”


	5. Reckoning

Castiel was tired of not knowing. He didn't know what to do about his absent Father, he didn't know what Raphael had planned for the Elhiym Yad, and he didn't know what to do with the two incapacitated Winchesters in his care.

Sam's inconveniently large body hung over Cas's right shoulder, ungainly, but mobile. Dean was less cooperative. Why a celestial being lacked the ability to talk a not-quite-lucid, docile man into standing and walking completely eluded Castiel.

Dean seemed content to sit on the ground, slumped against their "borrowed" vehicle, but Castiel was certain they would begin to attract attention soon, especially with the ostentatious display of power set off by Raphael's ritual to transfer the power of an innocent soul into the Elhiym Yad.

A soul now in Heaven, Castiel prayed. He found it difficult to believe his Father still listened, but his multiple resurrections could not be a sign of indifference. Castiel thought he perhaps understood a small fraction of parental frustration with uncooperative children, at this moment.

"Dean, we must leave now. Please get into the vehicle."

Large hazel eyes looked up at him. "'Kay," the hunter mumbled... but he didn't move. With a sigh, Castiel laid the taller Winchester brother across the back seat of the small car, carefully closed the door, then pulled Dean to his feet. He stood on his own while Castiel opened the passenger door, and the angel chose to take that as a sign of improvement.

Castiel maneuvered Dean into the front seat, and after he spotted his brother, the older human's eyes remained locked on Sam's face. Castiel buckled Dean into his seat (after all, the angel had never driven a car before, so such a precaution was imperative) and climbed into the vacant driver's seat. Dean's gaze stayed fixed over his left shoulder, his neck at an awkward angle so as to keep Sam's face in view.

Grateful Sam left the keys in the ignition, Castiel copied the motions he had watched humans do countless times and began to drive east, toward Sioux Falls. The lumbering metal machine moved slowly, compared to his wings, but it was not unpleasant. Castiel could see why Dean enjoyed the activity for its own sake and not simply as a means to travel.

Twenty miles later, Sam started to wake up. Fifteen miles after that, the younger Winchester regained full consciousness. Castiel was grateful for the company after enduring miles of Dean's unnatural silence beside him.

"Hello, Sam. How are you feeling?"

"Ugh," came the unenlightening response. Castiel gave Sam a moment to get his bearings and sit up. Once he saw Sam's eyes in the rear-view mirror, he asked again. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap." Sam inhaled a shaky breath, then realized Dean had been staring at him since he woke up. "Dean? What's with the goofy grin?"

Castiel glanced over at the passenger seat. Dean was smiling widely at his brother, a look of wonder and joy on his face. Sam waved a hand in front of his brother's face, with no reaction. "Cas?" Sam's forehead creased with worry. "Why's Dean doing the creepy clown smile at me?"

"I'm not certain." Castiel sighed. "I quieted his soul, a bit more forcefully than I intended, admittedly."

"You what." Sam's tone was not very friendly. It made Castiel feel defensive.

"He was angry and about to do something reckless. I touched his soul with my grace to calm him." Castiel sighed. "I believe it had a greater effect than I intended because of our reinforced connection.”

“So, you tranqued Dean’s soul? How could you do that to him, Cas? Especially after all that crap with your deal!" Sam fumed. "Dean is gonna be so pissed, and he has every right to be.”

"Yes." There would be no avoiding a conflict, though Castiel wished he could. It was a price he was willing to pay for Dean's life. He had a more pressing concern, however. "Sam, please tell me what happened. I know you were in great pain, but your body was unharmed."

Sam looked out the window, hunching in on himself. "I think I scratched the wall." His hands twisted in his lap.

Castiel kept his gaze forward and waited. Six and three-quarter miles disappeared beneath the Pinto's tires before Sam continued. "I saw Lucifer," he whispered. "I saw him in the car with me. He said as long as I'm topside, he is too... But it's all just in my head, right Cas?"

Castiel kept his face calm so as not to frighten Sam further, but he failed to keep his hands from clenching the steering wheel so tightly it nearly bent. "It is extremely unlikely Lucifer could reach out of the cage through his connection to you, Sam. You should not worry." He avoided catching Sam's eye in the mirror.

In the brief moment of silence which followed, Castiel dared to hope he succeeded in alleviating Sam's fears. But then...

"You're such a shitty liar, Cas." If the words hadn't been spoken so fondly, they would have stung far more than they did.

"So," Cas heard old leather creak as Sam clutched the seat with his hands, "it's possible? Lucifer might really be in my head?"

Castiel looked into the brown eyes staring at him in the mirror, and found he couldn't even attempt to lie anymore. "It would be incredibly difficult, but not impossible for an archangel as strong as Lucifer to reach outside the cage through the link between his grace and his vessel." Castiel guided the vehicle around a corner to keep heading east. "As I said, Sam, it is most likely your psyche cracking under the burden of your buried memories of the cage, rather than Lucifer touching your mind."

At Sam's look, Castiel realized his final statement did not provide the comfort he intended.

Sam shook his head and went back to looking at the dark outside. After a few miles of silence, he spoke again. "Cas, you said Lucifer might be strong enough to reach out... What about Michael?"

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the feel of his oldest brother when he woke Sam from his nightmare. Then he remembered he was driving and re-opened them quickly. "Yes, Michael would be strong enough. But, Sam, the connection is between grace and vessel. Michael could not reach into your mind."

Sam nodded, but both angel and hunter looked over at Dean, whose attention was still entirely caught by Sam, though his manic grin had faded into something softer.

It was not until eight silent miles later that Castiel worked up the courage to ask Sam, "Why do you ask if Michael could touch your mind from the cage?" He feared the answer, because as soon as he felt his oldest brother, the pain in Sam's mind had stopped. Castiel wished he was responsible, but he knew better.

"I don't know," Sam said. "I just... I think I might remember Michael, a little. From the cage, I mean. I think, maybe, he was hurting Lucifer more than he was hurting me and Adam."

Castiel hoped it was true. That Sam was simply curious. He didn't want to contemplate what it meant if Michael was able to reach out of the cage into a mind not belonging to his vessel.

The Pinto emitted a quiet _ding_ and small light shaped like a box with a tube attached came on in front of him. Castiel decided to ignore it.

"Cas, do you even know how to drive?"

Sam's question was best left unanswered, Castiel thought. He kept driving.

Apparently, that was yet another poor choice on his part. The vehicle shuddered to a stop not fifteen miles later. As the useless collection of metal parts rolled to the side of the road, Sam informed him of the problem.

“Shit, we’re out of gas. Why didn’t you stop at the gas station we passed a little while ago?”

“I did not know. I’m sorry, Sam.”

The larger Winchester sighed. “You’ve never been behind the wheel before, have you?”

Castiel shook his head. Sam surprised him with a chuckle. “Well, you did better than I did my first time driving, and at least we’re not in the Impala.”

Sam reached past his brother, who had progressed to staring out the window in between bouts of staring at Sam, and pulled a map from a small compartment Castiel hadn’t noticed. “Let’s just figure out where we are. You were driving east, right?”

Castiel nodded. He could tell Sam their exact longitude and latitude, but he knew that humans liked to feel helpful. While Sam alternately looked at the map and his phone Castiel inspected Dean. The hunter was close to shaking off his influence, and Castiel was not looking forward to the conversation they would have when he did.

“Okay,” Sam said. “As far as I can tell, we’re in Montana, a little off of I-90 in the middle of some random national forest, but we should be able to get to Missoula if we follow this road and curve south at the next county highway. It’s walkable. More or less.”

Castiel felt Sam’s eyes turn to him. “Will Dean snap out of it soon? Or are we going to have to spend the night in the car?”

“It’s only an hour or so until dawn, Sam. Dean will be normal again by first light.”

Sam snorted. “Dean’s never been normal.” Castiel’s brow furrowed. He had never fully comprehended why humans who clearly cared for one another often said hurtful things, even when they were not angry.

Sam wet his lips and muttered “It’s just a joke, Cas.” Then Castiel realized his glare was making the hunter nervous. Should he laugh at the joke, even if he didn’t find it humorous?

“Ha, ha, hee.”

Sam blinked. Crickets chirped in the fading darkness outside the Pinto.

“Never make that sound again, Cas. It’s fucking creepy as shit.”

Splendid. Dean was awake.

“Hey man, how’re you feeling?” Sam asked.

“Probably about as good as you look, so... shitty.” Castiel heard Dean unbuckle his seat belt. “And speaking of shit...”

Castiel refused to look with his vessel’s eyes, but Dean’s wrath made his very grace tremble. He had never felt the human so furious.

“Um...” Castiel heard Sam open the car door. “I’m gonna... go... for a walk.”

With that, Castiel was alone with his human. He wondered when he had started thinking of Dean as _his_. It is not in an angel’s nature to be so possessive.

After a brief, yet infinite, moment of silence, Dean growled at him. “Don’t you _ever_ whammy me again, Cas. Ever.”

“I can’t promise you that, Dean.”

“Why the fuck not?” Dean snarled.

“Because you were going to get yourself killed by Raphael. I would rather you hate me than see you destroyed.”

"Cas, some kid is dead now because I didn't do anything to stop it! Because you wouldn’t let me!”

Castiel said nothing. A bug crawled across the windshield in front of him. It had wings. He wondered why it did not simply fly away.

“That kid’s blood is on your hands, Cas!” Dean shouted.

“His is not the first blood I’ve spilt. You know this.” Castiel knew Dean would not understand. Would never _let_ himself understand the choices Castiel had to make to protect him.

“You’re not even a little bit torn up about this are you, you cold son of a bitch.”

It would make no difference if Dean knew of his concern for the young soul, so Castiel again remained silent. He wanted to believe Dean didn't mean what he said, but he knew otherwise.

“Christ, when did you go back to being such a dick?”

“When I went to war.”

“We were at war before. You cared about people then. Called ‘em works of art and everything.”

That day in the park Castiel had laid a part of himself bare to the human sitting next to him that no one but his Father had ever known before. “I’ve told you before, Dean, I don’t have the luxury of caring as much as I once did. Not now that I’m fighting alone.”

“Then why didn’t you come to me for help?”

Castiel longed to make Dean understand, but knew he could not. “I’ve been fighting this war against Raphael since I left you in Lawrence. You chose freedom over peace. I am trying to give you both.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, because things are super-peaceful for me now Cas. Nice work.”

“You seemed content with Lisa Braeden and her child. I did not wish to tear down all you worked to build.”

“Lisa?” Castiel heard Dean shift in the seat. “Were you spying on me? What the fuck, man?”

The bug on the windshield slid backward from the wind, its miniscule legs churning against the smooth surface.

“Maybe if your spy skills weren’t so sucky, you’d’ve noticed I was barely holding it together with Lisa. I mean, as crappy as things are, at least now Sammy and I are back to saving people.”

For a brief moment, Castiel thought their conversation had turned a corner.

“Oh wait...” Dean snarked. “We’re just letting kids’ souls get wasted now. Never mind.”

Castiel finally turned his eyes to Dean. "It is not your job to stop every bad thing from happening, Dean!"

“At least I’m fucking trying!” Castiel turned his face forward again as Dean slammed his fist down on the dashboard. The bug felt the impact’s vibrations, and it finally flew away.

Castiel listened to Dean breathe, wanting to fly away himself.

“Could you have done that before I sold you my soul?” Dean asked. “The trippy Pink Floyd thing?”

Despite foreign expression Dean used, Castiel knew what he referred to. “No, not without your direct permission.”

“Fuck.” Even without looking, Castiel knew his human ran one hand over his eyes and mouth. Dean always did that when he was forced to confront a truth he disliked.

“You’re as big a dick as your brothers, you know that?” Castiel did. “I trusted you,” Dean continued. “Biggest mistake of my life.” Probably not, but Castiel understood the hyperbole.

Dean spoke quietly now. He knew a whisper could hurt as much as a shout. “Just... just leave. I really don’t want you around.”

Castiel understood. He understood what it was to replace devotion to his Father with devotion to another, and his best efforts to serve were never enough. Had never been enough.

He flew away.

***

When Dean lifted his head, Cas was gone. Sure, _now_ he listened. Dean kicked open the car door and climbed out.

Sam was about a hundred yards down the road, walking in circles and talking to himself. Dean hoped like hell his brother was still sane. He didn’t catch a whole lot of Sam’s conversation with Cas, but he remembered enough to be worried. He grabbed their duffels out of the trunk, then hiked over to where Sam paced.

He didn’t let his brother ask about his feelings. _No thank you._ “Let’s get walking, Sammy," he said, lofting Sam's duffle his direction. "I’m starving.”

"Dean, what happened back there?" Sam asked. "Where's Cas?"

Dean clenched his jaw. "Cas took a hike. I don't want him around right now."

Sam pursed his lips. "I get that. From what Cas told me, he really messed up."

"Yes, he did," Dean cut his brother off, "and I'm not going to talk about it."

Sam opened his mouth. "I mean it, Sam." Sam closed his mouth.

After thirty seconds of very awkward silent walking, Dean threw Sam a bone. "Raphael's a chick now, you missed that part."

The corners of Sam's mouth turned down. "Huh. I wonder if angels self-identify differently when they're in a differently gendered vessel."

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother and made a face. "Dude, your west coast college education is showing."

Sam grinned and huffed, but Dean knew Sam would be contemplating angel gender for the rest of their hike. What a nerd.

They only got about five miles before a grisly guy in a rusty pickup pulled over and gave them a ride. Turns out he was heading to Missoula, too. “Guess it’s a popular place, Sammy,” Dean quipped.

They holed up in the town's only motel. Well, there was a resort five miles into the national forest, but Dean would rather they didn't max out _all_ of their credit cards in one go. Sam went out for food while Dean stashed the weapons and salted the place, trying not to think of where Cas flitted off to and if he'd be back to use his soul as a charger before Dean was ready to see his face again.

A random Jehovah's Witness-type guy interrupted Dean mid-salting, which was awkward as all hell, and c'mon, at a _motel_ dude? Draw the line somewhere, buddy. They already have the free Gideon's. Dean managed to shoo the guy - kid, really - away just in time for Sam to get back with the chow. Dean apparently hadn't eaten since the day before because Cas slipped his soul a Mickey or whatever, so he was looking forward to just sitting in front of some bad TV watching Sam alternately bitchface at the crappy programming and Dean stuffing his face.

Unfortunately, Sam thought that food-time could be mixed with talk-about-our-feelings-like-giant-girls-time... which couldn't really be mixed with _any_ time.

"Dean, I'm serious," and Sam pulled out the full-power puppy eyes, too, damn it. "I don't like what Cas did either, but his heart's in the right place. He was just trying to help."

"Well then he should stop helping. Can we leave this alone, now?" Dean shoved half a slice of meat-lovers pizza in his mouth to demonstrate for the slow ones in the group what "leave this alone" meant.

Sam made a face, but forged ahead anyway. "You do realize that without using your soul to heal himself, Castiel will die, right?"

"Yes, Sam, I get it. I'm still pissed about that, too! Who says he can't do it from a zillion miles away, anyway?"

"He's our friend, man." Dean jammed the other half of his slice into his mouth and gave Sam a look. "He is, Dean! And you've been treating him like crap lately."

"Maybe I'm just a crappy kinda guy," Dean said around the food in his mouth. Swallowed. "And this conversation is over, Sam. I mean it."

"Fine," and Dean did a double-take. "Then let's talk about what I've been up to for the past year and a half."

Dean hung his head. Why did he even try? "Sam, I really don't wanna talk about Hell any more than I wanna talk about Cas, okay."

"I'm not talking about Hell, Dean. The wall's keeping that out, remember?" Dean tilted his head. Sam tossed and turned at night way too often for that last sentence to be honest. Sadly, Dean had gotten pretty good over the past couple years at figuring out when his brother was lying to him.

Before he could call Sam on it, Sam finished with a bang. "I want to know what I did while I was soulless."

Deflect, deflect! This is not a drill! "I was picket-fencing it at Lisa's, remember? I got no clue what you were up to. After we hooked back up, we just hunted. Usual gig. Why the curiosity?"

Sam shook his head. "I keep getting flashes of stuff... It's not Hell, but I'm doing _awful_ things." He raked a hand through his (way too long) hair. “It feels like when we retraced my steps after Meg possessed me, but this is worse, because it was me!"

Nope. Dean was not going to let his little brother feel guilty for crap that was definitely not his fault. "Well that's weird. You weren't exactly normal, but you weren't out there being evil. You just... didn't feel anything, I guess."

Sam looked up at him. "I call bullshit."

"Dude-"

"Don't lie to me, Dean," Sam interrupted. "I deserve to know this!"

And no. Just, no. "Don't lie to you? Dude, hypocrite much?"

Sam actually had the gall to act confused. "What are you talking about?"

"We live in each other's back pockets, man. Do you honestly think I haven't noticed the nightmares? 'The wall's keeping Hell out' my ass!" Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He hated sitting awake at night listening to his brother relive his greatest hits from the Cage. "You've been dreaming about the Cage every night for like a solid week."

Sam looked away. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to worry."

"Well, I'm worried." Dean got up off of the bed he'd been eating on to pace. "I swear, one time I could hear your ‘nightmare’ from the friggin’ ice machine! Are you scratching, or is the wall breaking down already? Death said it'd be temporary, but I thought it'd last a little longer than this."

"I'm not sure. We don't really have anything to compare it to." Sam cracked a smile. "It's not like we're talking about furniture from Walmart versus IKEA, here."

Dean huffed. "I need a drink."

"The soda machine's right outside." Sam somehow managed to keep a straight face through that smartass remark.

Dean rolled his eyes. "You want one, wuss?"

"Diet Coke?"

Dean shook his head and headed outside. "I'm bringing you Pepsi Max."

He let the door slam on Sam's objections.

Sam wasn't kidding. The soda machine lit up the parking spaces just four doors down their room, it's feeble glow casting shadows of empty cans and fast food trash bags next to their stolen ride (which they'd have to ditch soon, Dean thought). Sadly, the machine only offered Coke products, so Dean would have to get creative to bring Sam a can he didn't want but would still drink. It's a game Dean's been playing with him since they were kids. He didn't know if Sam ever caught on to the game or if he just assumed Dean's a moron.

He walked back toward their room with a regular Coke with Lime (what the fuck?) in hand. Two doors away he heard Sam yelling.

"No! You're not real! Get away from me!"

Dean sprinted through the door and crouched next to Sam, who lay curled on the floor, before the can of soda hit the concrete outside. "Sam!"

His brother didn't respond. He thrashed too violently for Dean to hold, and his wide open eyes stared at nothing. "Sam listen to me, you're here, not there!” Sam didn't respond at all, even when Dean shook him.

Dean had never felt so powerless in his life, except in Cold Oak and on Alistair's rack. "Cas, help me, please!" Dean hoped the angel would still listen to his prayers.

"Help me!" Sam screamed, his voice cracking. "Michael, please!"

Ice slid into Dean's chest. He didn't pull away, but he wanted to. "Sam, _I'm_ here. I'm right here."

Sam just whimpered and curled himself into a tighter ball. Dean hadn't thought of his brother as _small_ in a very long time.

Cas must still be mad at him. He wasn't going to answer, and Dean didn't blame him.

Dean kept his hands on his brother’s shoulders and tried to ride it out. "Sam, listen to me. Those dicks aren't hurting you anymore. No one's gonna hurt you!"

"Don't be so sure about that, Dean Winchester."

Dean twisted around to see Raphael and three goons standing in the doorway, staring down at him.

"Shit."


	6. Helter Skelter

"Shit."

Instinct and years of training ripped Dean to his feet and into a defensive stance over Sam before Raphael finished speaking, but one glance at the feathered goon squad and the fact that Dean's only reachable weapons wouldn't do shit against angels (much less an archangel) meant that he and Sam were well and truly fucked this time.

Raphael flicked one hand, as though swatting away an annoying insect, and Dean went flying. "I guess utilizing some of Zachariah's human informants was a useful endeavor, after all," the archangel observed. Dean hit the wall and rolled, getting to his hands and knees in time to see Raphael step over Sam, who was still curled up on the floor. Bitch didn't beat around the bush.

Dean grabbed one of the box cutters he keeps on his person at all times and sliced open his palm. He'd barely drawn a half-circle on the wall for the angel-banishing sigil when Raphael gripped him by the scruff of his neck and tossed him to the other side of the room. Wind knocked out of him, Dean threw a "goodbye" prayer to the wind, hoping Cas wasn't too pissed off to listen.

 _Cas, if you can hear me, take care of Sammy for me, okay?_ Dean just hoped the dumb, feathery bastard had enough sense to wait until Raphael left before flying in. It was Cas the archangel wanted, after all.

Raphael hauled Dean up by his collar. "If you're gonna try to torture Cas's location outta me," Dean rasped, "you're gonna be mighty disappointed."

Raphael's eyes narrowed. "You broke in Hell, Winchester."

"Yeah, but that took a while," Dean sneered. "I'm guessing you wanna get this apocalypse show on the road before 2040."

Raphael released Dean's collar, but gravity didn't seem to be working. Instead, Dean found himself plastered to the wall. Man, if he had a dollar for every time that happened...

The archangel got up in his face and whispered, "Who says I need you to break?" Then there was a fist in Dean's chest again. It didn't feel any better this time than when Cas did it. The scream that tore out of Dean's throat even surprised him. Raphael twisted his wrist and Jesus fucking Christ it felt like he was turning Dean inside-out. Then Raphael squeezed or something, and Dean started wishing he could just pass out. Anything to not feel this anymore.

"His soul is marked!" Raphael snarled. "The traitor bought it." He sounded pretty pissed about it.

 _Well, now I know selling your soul's a good way to piss off bitchy archangels,_ Dean thought. Raphael was still fucking sticking his fingers around in Dean's soul. Dean could feel it inside of him. It was like having an icy-hot patch on his lungs. "The spell should still work," one of the goons piped up. "Our testing in the Northwest suggested that you need not own the soul, personally."

"'Should?' 'Suggested?'" Raphael scoffed. "I will not wager Heaven and Hell on anything less than utter certainty." Dean just hoped they made up their fucking minds before he went out of his from the pain.

"The only complication is that whomever holds the contract could die in the process if they are not protected during the invocation," the goon continued. "The energy transfer will still work." Huh, a smart goon, apparently.

Raphael nodded. "Then let's go. I have him." Wait, they weren't just gonna kill him?

"You are not taking him anywhere, Raphael." Good God, Dean had never been so happy to hear Heaven's grumpiest nerd angel sound so pissed off before. _Probably because he's usually pissed off at you, dumbass,_ Dean's brain reminded him. And then Dean felt pure, unadulterated relief as the archangel pulled his hand out of Dean's ribcage.

Dean hit the floor like a sack of potatoes and just breathed for a second as Cas and Raphael faced off.

"You keep getting in the way, little brother," Raphael said. "You must be exceptionally dense, not to have learned your lesson by now."

Castiel didn't reply, except to draw his sword. Raphael sighed like the drama queen he is. "I suppose I could find it in my heart to teach you yet again."

The archangel held up his fist, closed around an egg-sized bauble. Dean caught a glimpse of swirling lights on its surface before he had to close his eyes when the thing went supernova.

"Cas!" He knew it wasn’t enough of a warning. Cas was dead. One hit from that thing when he was fully charged had nearly killed him. There was no way his angel was walking away from this. Wait, _his_ angel? When had his brain decided _that_ was a thing?

Then the light disappeared like somebody flipped a switch. Dean looked up, and through the dancing dark spots in his vision, he saw Cas, still standing, and breathed again. His angel looked a helluva lot worse for wear, leaning against the dresser for support, and was clearly surprised as fuck to be alive, but still standing.

Raphael, on the other hand, didn't look shocked that the weapon misfired, or whatever. He drew his sword and advanced on Castiel, flanked by the goon squad.

Dean caught Cas's eye, then pointed at the banishing sigil he'd drawn during the angels' pissing contest. Cas gave him his patented so-tiny-it's-practically-invisible smirk, then peaced the fuck out of dodge. Raphael stiffened, then spun toward Dean, shouting "No!"

"Sayonara, motherfuckers!" Dean slapped his bloody palm to the sigil and closed his eyes as the angels were blown away by the white light. Silence filled the room for a few seconds, and Dean just wanted to pass out. But then Sammy's whimpers broke through and no force in the universe could have kept Dean from making his way over to his brother's side.

***

Castiel forced himself to wait a full three minutes outside the radius of the banishing sigil's efficacy, just in case something had delayed Dean. When he returned to the hotel room, Dean was kneeling over Sam, holding down his spasming limbs. Castiel stepped toward the brothers. "Dean, what –"

"I don't know," Dean cut him off. "Before Raphael showed up I went to get sodas and just found him like this." The hunter looked up at him. "What's wrong with my brother, Cas?"

Castiel peered beneath Sam's surface, but saw no serious injury. There was no physical reason for Sam to be in his present condition. Then again, there had been no signs of any kind in Ellensburg, either.

"I don't know, but we need to move, Dean." Castiel lifted Sam’s still-seizing body. "Raphael will not be gone for long."

"Well can you at least look?" Dean's desperation couldn't be more clear. It practically clutched Castiel's grace through their bond.

"Of course, but after we’ve relocated." Dean clearly didn’t like it, but Castiel knew he saw the logic in this course of action. Dean pushed himself to his feet and snatched the brothers’ scattered possessions from around the motel room.

Staggering slightly as he slung the bags over his shoulder, Dean nodded Castiel’s direction to signal his readiness. Transporting himself and two humans so soon after being hit with Raphael’s weapon was taxing, and Castiel was proud to keep his feet when he landed. Dean stumbled, but disguised it by bending to put the bags on the ground.

The hunter assessed their surroundings, but didn’t comment on the woods or ask where they were. He gestured emphatically at his brother's prone form, now laying still on the ground where Castiel set him when they landed.

Turning from the bare desperation on Dean's pale face, Castiel bent and extended a hand to Sam's forehead, "Remember, Dean, that the last time this happened I could not help." Castiel hoped that would manage expectations at least somewhat.

“No, I don’t remember, Cas, because somebody roofied me.”

Well. Yes, there was that.

Castiel reached toward Sam's mind as gently as he could. Castiel felt something inside Sam's mind snap the instant his grace brushed against it, and the human heaved breath into his lungs and opened his eyes. Like in Ellensburg, however, Castiel felt a flicker of his eldest brothers in the infinitesimal fraction of time between his touching Sam's mind and the connection breaking.

"Sammy! You back with us?" Dean held his brother's face between his hands, relief written across his face. Sam nodded, and the elder hunter turned to Cas, a "thank you" ready to fall from his lips.

"This should not be possible," Castiel said, cutting him off.

"What?" Dean's gaze darted between his brother and Castiel. "What shouldn't be possible? You've healed us before."

Castiel stood and took two steps backward. "I did not heal your brother, Dean."

Dean's brow creased. "Then what'd you do? 'Cause it worked."

"I merely touched Sam's mind with my grace, and it woke him. What shouldn't be possible is what I saw there, and who I felt." Castiel turned his eyes toward Sam.

"The cage." The taller hunter's voice shook.

Castiel nodded. "And the presence of both Michael and Lucifer."

Dean flicked wide green eyes between his brother and his angel. "Somebody care to fill me in here, because I'm the only one in this conversation who hasn't been in Sammy's head recently!"

Still maintaining distance between himself and Sam, Castiel caught the taller hunter's gaze. "Sam, please tell us what you experienced. I-- _We_ may be able to help you."

Sam's face pinched, his eyes closing as he shook his head tightly. He sucked his lips into his mouth, then let out his breath in a long gust. Opening his eyes, Sam told them.

"For the past couple weeks – "

"Couple weeks!?" Dean growled. "Jesus, Sammy!"

"Don't interrupt him, Dean." Castiel saw Sam's difficulty in forcing the words out. The brothers would have to address their trust issues later.

"I've been having nightmares of the Cage. Reliving it, I guess. The pain. It's..." Sam swallowed.

"It's different," Dean finished.

Sam nodded. "But still real, you know?"

"Yeah."

"That's not the worst part, though," Sam said. "The worst part is it was never just me and Lucifer. Adam and Michael were just as trapped down there. And I've been remembering all this stuff in flashes." He looked up at Dean quickly. "It's not like I've been trying to scratch the wall or anything. It feels more like the memories are reaching through, and weirdly, they're not all bad."

"Come again?"

Castiel interceded again. "Dean, let him finish."

"It's all memories of the Cage," Sam said. "But more and more I'm remembering Michael. He did, I don't know, something to Adam and me. Made it harder for Lucifer to hurt us. I remember Michael and Lucifer fighting in there. It was like watching two thunderstorms go at it on WWE or something."

Sam stopped talking, his eyes glazed as he recalled the feeling of two celestial beings battling around him. Castiel broke the younger hunter out of his reverie. "Sam." Sam blinked and shook his head. "What else?"

"At first I only had these flashbacks when I was sleeping, but back in Ellensburg, when you and Dean left me in the car, I saw Lucifer."

Dean's gaze shifted from Sam to Castiel for the first time since Sam woke up. "It was just a hallucination, though, right? It wasn't really him. Was it?"

Castiel maintained his distance from Sam and asked, "Sam, do you remember Michael coming to your aid in Ellensburg or just now?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, both times. Why?"

"Because both times I've touched your mind to wake you from the nightmare, I've felt both Michael and Lucifer. Their real presence."

Dean stood from where he'd been crouched next to his brother. "'Their real presence.' What the hell does that mean, Cas? Is Sammy still possessed?"

Castiel didn't need to look at Sam's soul to see the spike of fear that sliced through him at Dean's query. "No. You are still yourself, Sam. It means that somehow, Lucifer, and presumably Michael as well, have discovered how to reach out of the Cage through Sam. I did not think that would be possible."

Sam gripped his brother's forearm as Dean heaved him to his feet. "Lucifer did say something like that, in Ellensburg. It's a little fuzzy, but he said that he's the one who pushed my body out of the Cage without my soul. I think he's trying to use me to get himself out."

"Can he?" Dean kept a hand on his brother's back, and Castiel knew it wasn't because Sam's balance needed the assistance.

"I don't know, Dean. But we need to ward this area and rest. None of us are in any shape to either research or fight right now." Castiel was far from fully recovered from Raphael's attack, but he suspected he was better off than either human at the moment. Sam's mental struggle with the Devil had clearly exhausted him, and Dean was in even worse shape after Raphael’s ministrations. It did not help that the bond between Dean's soul and Castiel's grace was wide open, funneling energy from the human to the angel.

"Where are we, anyway?" Sam shifted his weight to take some of Dean's, noticing his brother's escalating weariness.

"Russia," Castiel answered as he began carving wards into tree trunks around them.

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Okay 'comrade,' but why are we camping?"

"There is no one out here to call Raphael to us. I will keep you and Sam from freezing and keep watch for predators, of any kind." Castiel was far more worried about demons or the wrong angels than animals.

Dean rolled his eyes but stepped away from Sam and started going through their bags, muttering to himself about stupid camping and Kumbaya. Castiel chose to ignore him. By the time he finished warding the area around them against their most likely enemies, Dean and Sam had donned additional layers of clothing and burrowed beneath a mound of blankets. None of them were stupid enough to suggest lighting a fire.

Castiel settled down with his back against a nearby tree trunk to watch over the hunters as they rested. He thought they were both asleep already, so Dean surprised him when he opened his eyes and whispered his name.

Castiel met his gaze. "Yes, Dean?"

"Thanks."

Castiel nodded in reply, but Dean kept speaking. "Not just for the wards and stuff. Thank you for coming when I prayed. We didn't part on the best terms, and you really had no reason to show up when I asked for help. Thank you for coming anyway."

"I will always come when you call, Dean. I broke your trust, and you are right to be angry with me. But I will endeavor to earn it back."

Dean nodded. "I know you meant well, Cas. I do. I'm just gonna need some time."

Castiel smiled a bit at the hope Dean's words gave him. Then Sam's voice shattered the moment.

"If you two aren't going to kiss and make up, can you at least shut up so I can sleep?!"

Dean huffed a small laugh. "'Night Sammy." Sam grunted in reply.

Dean's eyes met Castiel's again, more of his soul's energy flowing toward the angel through their bond, and with conscious intent behind it. Castiel was impressed. Most humans would not be able to exert control over their spiritual form so readily, even unconsciously. Castiel hesitated, then sent warmth and peace back at Dean in return, watching for his reaction. The hunter smiled, real and wide, closed his eyes and snuggled his face against his makeshift pillow. Castiel smiled again.

"Sleep well, Dean."

***

When Dean woke up in the morning, the first thing he thought was that if it was going to be snowing, it could at least not snow on his face. The second thing he thought was that he really should be much colder if he was sleeping outside in winter.

"Ugh." He sat up and looked around for Sam and Cas. He spotted them sitting near each other by the same tree Cas used as a recliner last night. Actually, judging from the bare patches where the snow wasn't, Cas hadn't moved all night. As if he heard Dean thinking about him, _please don't let him hear me thinking about him,_ Cas looked over and Sam followed suit.

"Morning, Dean." Dean grunted at his brother and wriggled his way out of his pile of blankets.

"You two been gossiping long?"

"A few hours," Sam replied. "You were sleeping like a rock, dude. If Cas hadn't told me otherwise, I'd have thought you were sick or unconscious."

Huh. "Well, I feel fine." And he did, actually. He felt way better than he should for having slept outside after getting the crap kicked out of him. He side-eyed the angel, who tried his best to look innocent... and failed miserably.

Dean sighed. Cas had been recharging again, apparently, and enough to do some healing overnight. Starting to roll their blankets and layers, Dean gestured at Sam to come help him pack up their stuff. "So what were you two chatting about, Sammy? Cas isn't usually the heart-to-heart type."

Sam shrugged. "Mostly about what I'm seeing in the Cage. Trying to figure out what's real, and what's not."

Dean nodded. There wasn't really much he could contribute to that conversation, so he's kind of glad he slept through it. "Well, you're not going to figure it out in one day, even if you are both geek geniuses." He slapped Sam's shoulder as he hefted a duffle bag, then raised his voice. "Cas, can you zap us over to Bobby's? I hate to say it, but I think we need to regroup and get back into research mode. Figure out why the hell Raphael's weapon didn't blow you to pieces back there."

"I can do that." Cas nodded so emphatically he almost freaking bowed, Christ. Dean hoped this "I'll endeavor to earn your trust back" phase didn't last too long. It was already uncomfortable.

A few hours later, Cas had not only angel-expressed them to South Dakota and Bobby's empty house (apparently the hot Sheriff told him about a possible zombie problem in Des Moines -- were zombies the monster of the month or something?), he was being so helpful it wasn't helpful at all.

"For the last time, I don't need you to translate this for me, Cas!" Dean tugged his current dusty tome out of the angel's grabby hands.

"But Dean -"

"Don't 'but Dean' me. It's in English for Christ's sake!"

Cas backed away a step and looked at his feet. "I was just trying to be useful, like we talked about."

And the pin dropped. "That's really what this is about? Me trusting you?"

Their eyes met, and yep. That was really what this was about. Dean hung his head. "Cas, you do realize that me trusting you has nothing to do with you doing stuff for me, right?"

Apparently this was a major revelation, if Cas's face was anything to go by, but before Dean could explain the fact that he wasn't actually a manipulative dick, Sam called over from the kitchen, where the table served as his desk.

"Hey guys, come take a look at this."

Happy to leave his own book behind for a while, Dean followed Cas out of the den. "Find something on why the Hand of God has a limp wrist?"

"Maybe." Sam gestured for Cas to read over his shoulder. "Cas, you remember when I showed you the passage about the innocent souls?"

"Of course."

"Well I just found another passage from the same time period that uses the same word for 'innocent': tzadiyk'yad." He pointed to a section of the text and Cas's eyes widened.

"Of course!"

"Either of you care to share with the class?"

Sam looked up and said "It's the Beatitudes!" like that meant something to Dean.

"Okay..."

"You know, 'Blessed are the poor in spirit, theirs is the kingdom of heaven' and 'Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth'?"

"Cut to the chase, Sammy. What's the Sunday school lesson for?"

"It's that same Hebrew word! The author uses 'tzadiyk'yad' in the fourth Beatitude."

Cas's eyes drilled a hole in Dean as he filled in that blank. "'Blessed are the righteous, for their hunger shall be satisfied.'"

Dean's eyes shifted from Cas to Sam and back again. "Okay, so you mistranslated. The weapon chews up and spits out righteous souls, not innocent ones. That's just semantics. It still kills people."

"Dean," Sam sighed his my-brother's-an-idiot sigh, "you're not getting it. Raphael's been trying to reload with the wrong ammo."

Cas still hadn't blinked during his one-man staring contest with Dean's face. Dude's eyeballs must be drier than Arizona in July. "I think the author, and perhaps my Father, had a more specific soul in mind when describing the Hand of God."

And this? Dean didn't want to hear this.

Sam apparently thought he hadn't figured it out yet, though. "Dean, the lore about the Apocalypse called you the Righteous Man. I think you're the key to this."

"Yeah, lucky me. I get it, Sam." Suddenly, Raphael's weirdness back at the hotel made a lot more sense. "And I think Raphael does, too." Dean walked away from the table and grabbed three beers out of Bobby's fridge. He'd replenish the zombie hunter extraordinaire's supply later. "Teenage mutant ninja angel figured out he needs me to charge the batteries on his vibrator. Cas just got in the way." He handed off beers to Sam and Cas, then took a long swig of his own, wishing it was something stronger.

"At least Raphael will not harm any more children, now that he knows his error," Cas tried to lift the mood.

"But now he's definitely going after Dean." Sam brought it right back down.

 _That's not even the worst part, Sammy,_ Dean thought. "He knows exactly who to go after in order to get to me, too. We have enough history for that." Dean knew that Sam and Cas weren't exactly damsels in distress, but still...

"But he does not know how stubborn you can be, nor how many times you have overcome a foe despite your relative weakness," Cas said.

Dean tried to ignore the way Sam snorted his beer at that.

"Thanks, Cas. I think." Dean shook his head. "The point is, now that we know what he's after, we can come up with a better plan."

"What are you thinking?" Sam probably knew him well enough to have it figured out already, but it was nice that he asked anyway.

"The best defense is a good offense."

That got another smile out of Cas. "I like that plan."


	7. Hell's Bells

"Holy shit," Sam whispered.

Dean looked up from the (giant) old book he'd been poring over during Team Free Will's current research binge. Judging from the tremor Sam's voice, he hadn't just find a way for them to follow through on their "the best defense is a good offense" strategy. He took a swig of his beer. "What?"

"I think I just figured out why Raphael's not too upset that the Elhiym Yad is a pretty ineffective weapon without the right ammo," the planet's most floppy-haired hunter said. "It's not actually designed to be a weapon."

Cas walked in from the kitchen, where he had been splitting time between watching Bobby man the phones (that zombie thing sounded like it was getting serious) and helping the Winchesters research.

"What did you find, Sam?" the angel asked.

Sam pointed to the passage he'd just read (on a _scroll_ for Christ's sake). "This is a bit of a sketchy source, the author must've been on some serious hallucinogenics when he wrote it, but the information fits. The device isn't actually a weapon, it's a key to someplace. Apparently it uses the power that it absorbs from souls to open the door between Earth and some other place."

Cas moved to read over Sam's shoulder. "'And lo, the gate was opened into a dark place, filled with blood and bone.'" The angel straightened up, eyebrows pinched and lips tight. "This writing describes Purgatory."

"Purgatory?" Dean got up from the couch where he'd set up his research space, papers and books scattered around him. "Like, decaf Hell?"

Cas shook his head. "Human religions have never understood Purgatory, because human souls do not belong there. It is the afterlife for creatures, a place of eternal night to house the bodies and souls of unnatural predators."

"So, why would Raphael want to get into the monster afterlife?" Sam asked.

"Mutilated as they are, they are still souls," Cas reasoned. "They still hold power." The angel's eyes widened as he realized something: "Purgatory is filled with souls no one is using in the fight in Heaven, or in Hell."

Well, that explained why Cas looked worried. Dean just hoped this wasn't as bad as it sounded. "So, if Raphael pulls this off, uses my soul to somehow get into Purgatory and nab a butt-load of monster souls, how powerful would that make him?"

Cas gazed into the middle distance for a moment, looking for all the world like he was doing mental math. The angel looked back over at Dean, and it was pretty clear that yes, it was as bad as it sounded. "If Raphael succeeds in this, not even Michael would be able to challenge him. He would control Heaven, Hell, and every realm in between."

"Shit." Dean and Sam cursed.

"I'm about to make your day even worse," Bobby announced, walking into the study.

"Fantastic," Dean snarked. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Let's hear it."

"I just got off the phone with half a dozen hunters from the Kansas City area. They've been working on a zombie thing, and it sounds pretty serious."

"You think it's related to the infestations in Dubuque and Des Moines you wiped out?" Sam asked.

"I'm pretty sure it's the same damn thing," Bobby said. "I just don't know exactly what _it_ is."

"Why do you think they're connected?" Dean asked. He needed to distract himself from thinking about the situation with Raphael. Wasting some zombies was a good way to do that.

"Because I'm smart," Bobby retorted, "and because three sets of zombies like I ain't never heard of before poppin' up within 100 miles of each other just can't be a coincidence. We ain't ever been that lucky."

"So what makes these zombies different?" Sam asked.

Bobby opened a beer gave them the run-down. Unlike revenants or the undead who were raised through spell work, these zombies seemed to be pretty lucid. They didn't (or couldn't) talk, but they reacted and moved like normal humans, just dead. They had all their wounds, too. Heck, some of them still had their stitches from autopsy. They didn't seem out for blood either, unlike Croatoan zombies, only becoming violent when threatened. The weirdest thing was that none of them - or the people they used to be, anyway - were connected, yet they all worked together as a unit when attacked.

"From the latest reports I got, the one in charge looks like a young woman," Bobby finished. "Died from a seizure as Shawna Williams, age 21. She was a social sciences major at Drake, in Des Moines. Her obituary was in the paper and everything before she rose, right out of the morgue, from witness accounts."

"Huh." Dean was pretty stumped on the how and the why, but at least he knew what to do about it. "So, how do we un-rise these Romero-rejects?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nothing's worked so far except blowin' 'em to bits. Tamara's one of the group that went in, and she said to stock up on hand grenades."

Dean whistled. "That sounds like fun."

"Right," Sam interjected, "but don't we have bigger problems, Dean?"

"Raphael's attempts to gain access to Purgatory is the more pressing threat," Cas agreed.

As much as Dean would rather go out and blow up zombies, he had to admit they were right. He sighed. "Sorry Bobby, but we gotta sit this one out. Raphael's planning something pretty apocalyptic."

The older hunter nodded. "Yeah, I know. End-of-the-world shit usually falls on you boys' plates. I'll muddle through somehow." He said it as a joke, but Dean knew that Bobby would rather have their help, even if he understood why they had to focus on Raphael. "You boys better pack up the books you'll need and hit the road. I ain't leaving your beer-stealing asses alone in my house again."

***

Despite not being officially on the case, the Winchester's didn't want to be too far away from the Midwest’s growing zombie problem, so while Bobby organized a group of hunters out of his "home office," they headed south and set up shop in a tiny motel with decor from the 60s just outside Kansas City.

The motel room was silent except for the click-clack of Sam's fingers on his laptop. Dean was passed out in his bed by the door, and Cas was out patrolling the town to make sure they hadn't picked up a tail from Raphael when they left Bobby's. Sam paused his research and looked at the clock. 3:30 a.m. He really wanted to go to bed, but he wanted to find out more about what he did while he was soulless _more_.

Sam felt guilty using valuable research hours digging into his own past instead of looking for ways to stop Raphael from opening Purgatory, but not guilty enough to stop. He barely even noticed as the words on the screen started to blur together. He'd just rest his eyes for a minute. Only a minute...

Screaming. Thunder. Pain. Sam shrinks into himself as Lucifer throws his might around the cage. He feels like he's trapped in a box with a tornado full of chain saws. He can't defend himself. _I can't fight this. I can't. Help! I can't!_

Then Michael is there, a wall between Lucifer and Sam. The pain fades away. Wearing Adam's face, Michael turns to Sam, and says _I won't let my brother hurt you._

Sam dares to hope.

Claws dig into his hip and shoulder. He's being pressed against something. Crushed.

 _No, brother. Don't do this!_ Michael yells. _You'll destroy us both!_

Sam feels like he's being ripped in half by the force pushing at him. He screams.

"He forced your body out of the cage, Sam." It was Michael's voice, but it sounded different. More familiar. "If you say 'yes,' he'll possess you again. He will escape the cage by jumping straight into his true vessel. If you don't say 'yes,' he will drive you mad."

Sam twisted his body so he could look at the archangel speaking to him. Michael stood just out of Sam's line of sight, his shape hazy. The edges of him Sam's eyes caught were familiar, though.

"Sam, we don't have much time to talk. Focus on me. This is important."

Suddenly, Sam was laying on the ground, and he wasn't in the cage anymore. He wasn't anywhere. He was surrounded by an unsettling amount of _nothing_.

"Lucifer will find a way to escape, Sam. He'll use you to get out, and I won't be able to stop him. Not from in here."

Sam looked around. He couldn't see Michael anymore, but he recognized the voice, now. "Dean?"

"No. Your brother is sleeping nearby, Sam. He is my true vessel. I can use my connection to him as a conduit to reach your mind, when you are close. He consented enough for that, at least, and you are soul mates, after all."

Yeah, Sam remembered their shared Heaven and Ash's revelation. He didn't think soul mates was the right word, but his brother would always be the most important person in his life. "What did you do to Dean?"

"I did nothing. He is a point of contact for me to reach you, Sam." Michael's voice turned hard as stone. "You _must not_ allow my brother to possess you again. Earth and every creature on it, every human, will be defenseless whilst I am trapped here."

Sam didn't know how long it would take the devil to drive him insane enough to say "yes," but he knew he couldn't last forever. "What if you got out, too?"

"Then I could lock him away forever. But the only way for me to escape is by entering my true vessel, just as Lucifer seeks to do."

Dean. It always came back to Dean, for Sam. The thought of losing his brother terrified him, but Lucifer walking the Earth again? Sam didn't know if he could live with that. Most likely he wouldn't have to. Raphael would be running the show before Lucifer could get out of the cage, anyway. "Raphael will stop Lucifer," Sam said, trying to talk himself out of considering something stupid. "He'll be strong enough after he takes all the souls from Purgatory."

"Raphael is going to open the gate to Purgatory?" Michael's voice was suddenly lower and more intense than Sam had ever heard from Dean's throat. He was reminded to be afraid of the archangel. "Sam, you _must not_ let that happen! Raphael does not know what he is doing!"

Wait. The Michael from Sam's flashbacks to the cage couldn't react to hearing about Raphael's plans. He'd never known about them. Sam spun in a circle to look at the nothing around him. Was this real, somehow? Or was he still dreaming?

"You're dreaming, Sam. But yes, this is real," Michael said, with more patience than usually came from Dean's voice.

"You're dreaming, Sammy! It isn't real!" Now that sounded like Dean.

"Wake up, Sammy!"

Sam gasped as his eyes flew open. Dean hovered over him, hands on his shoulders. He'd been shaking Sam, apparently.

"I'm okay, Dean, go back to sleep. It was just a nightmare."

Dean didn't look reassured. "Dude, it's morning. You apparently decided to sleep in the most uncomfortable chair ever, and then you started twitching and I couldn't wake you up." He stepped back and stared Sam down. "You wanna tell me what the hell that was?"

Not really. "Yeah. Later." Dean opened his mouth to tell Sam where to shove it, so Sam started damage control. "It's the cage again, Dean, and it's pretty freaking intense. Just let me process for a bit before spilling my guts, okay?"

For once, Dean proved that he did, in fact, have some level of emotional intelligence and let it go, telling Sam if he wanted to eat at the diner before they started serving lunch he better get ready fast. Sam told his brother and Cas to go ahead. The diner was only a few blocks away, so he'd meet them there.

As he watched the pair leave the motel room, Sam hoped the time alone would help him separate Dean's voice in his head from Michael's.

***

Mo's Diner was only four blocks from their motel, but Dean took the Impala anyway. Cas recharged his battery again yesterday, so Sam had driven them down from Bobby's after Dean slipped into his unwilling, extended nap. Always fun. So, he and Cas took the Impala, because Dean needed to remind her that she was still his baby.

The diner was relatively clean, and the smells coming from the kitchen made Dean's mouth water, though most of the tables were empty. He and Cas slid into a booth near the back and Dean ordered two coffees and worried about Sam.

"Sam did not appear to be in any pain when we left," Cas said after the waitress plunked their coffee in front of them. "It may have been just a nightmare."

"Yeah, because we're always that lucky." Dean sighed and pulled his chipped mug closer.

"He'll be alright, Dean," Cas insisted. "He has you."

Dean shook his head and looked away. His mouth twisted into something kind of like a smile, but definitely not happy. "Cas, you don't get it, man. The people around me, every single one of them, they get hurt. They end up leaving, one way or another. Dead or just gone."

He turned back to his angel, who looked confused. "I'm not _good_ for people, Cas. I'm just not." Dean didn't know how to be more clear about this. He sipped at his steaming caffeine. When Cas still didn't say anything, Dean fessed up to something he'd known for a while, but never wanted to admit to himself. "Sam would be better off without me around, but I'm not strong enough to let him go."

The waitress reappeared and Dean ordered a short stack of pancakes for himself, with a side of sausage and eggs, and oatmeal for Cas (not like he was gonna eat it, but it'd look weird not to order). The waitress left and Cas frowned, then leaned in and glared at Dean. "You are important to the people who surround you, Dean, even if you refuse to see it. Your presence helps Sam stay sane, and helps me keep faith. You are good."

Cas's expression was so goddamn _earnest_ Dean couldn't take it. "I let people down, Cas. My dad, Sam, you. Everyone."

"You never let down Lisa Braeden and her child."

Dean started at that. "Why'd you bring them up?"

Cas tilted his head and looked at Dean as though the answer was obvious. "You wrap your identity up so much in hunting, I thought it best to remind you that when you stepped outside of that world, you were more than good enough for those around you."

Dean remembered leaving Lisa's like it was last week, instead of nearly a year ago.

_"I have to do this, Lisa," Dean said. "Sam needs me. He can't hunt alone right now."_

_Lisa nodded, and Dean hoped that meant she understood. "I get it. I do," she said. "But, Dean, this back-and-forth thing? It's not good for Ben."_

_"Yeah, I get that, but -"_

_She cut him off. "No, you obviously don't." Her brown eyes looked away, and Dean could practically feel her steeling herself. "Look, Dean. If you're going to be here,_ be here. _And if you're going to leave, don't come back. I'm not trying to give you an ultimatum, but this has to be a clean break. For Ben's sake."_

_She paused, breathed, and Dean knew when she looked back at him that he would be the one leaving something broken behind, this time, but he let her finish. "Ben's strong. He can take it if you leave, and he'd love it if you'd stay. But not knowing? That's going to mess him up."_

_It's funny,_ Dean remembered thinking as he drove away. _It hurts just as much doing the leaving as is does being the one who got left._

"Dean?" Cas snapped him out of his little walk down memory lane.

"Good for Lisa and Ben?" Dean took a gulp of scalding coffee and relished the burn in his throat. "Yeah, not so much."

Cas opened his mouth to respond, but the ring of the door opening interrupted him. Sam stepped into the diner. Dean waved him over and thanked his lucky stars the feelings discussion was over. His and Cas's food arrived just as Sam sat down. He ordered a coffee and veggie omelet before the waitress could even pull her notepad out. Promising the food would be "up in a jiffy" she headed back toward the kitchen, flat shoes slapping on the tiled floor.

"Thanks for waiting, guys," Sam said sarcastically.

"No problem," Dean replied around a mouthful of delicious, fluffy pancakes.

"Hello Sam," Cas intoned. "Are you feeling well?"

Dean glanced up from his food in time to see Sam's shifty eyes. Yeah, he's not feeling "well" at all.

"Fine, Cas," ginormo lied. "First things first, where are we with the Raphael situation. Did either of you come across anything this morning while I was out that we can use?"

Dean and Cas shook their heads. Unfortunately, they'd hit a wall on the research front. If there's a way they can somehow deactivate the Hand of God or permanently lock up Purgatory, it's really, _really_ obscure.

"Bupkis," Dean swallowed another mouthful of coffee as the waitress set Sam's breakfast in front of him. When she left, Dean caught his brother's eye. "Sammy, I know something happened, and we don't have anything else going on right this second, so take ten minutes to talk to me about it. Please."

Sam actually cracked a smile at that. "You realize you just asked me to talk about my feelings with you, right?"

Dean shoveled in another mouthful of syrup-sogged pancakes. "Shut up and spill."

Sam looked over at Cas for a second, then sighed. "Neither one of you is going to like this very much, but... I think I had a conversation with Michael and he kind of made sense..."

***

Dean slammed the door of their motel room and threw his jacket on the desk hard enough to make the thing wobble. Granted, it wasn't the most well-made piece of furniture in the world, but Dean had a lot of pent-up aggression after Sam's little confession in the diner. At least his little big brother took a hint and went to "do some research" at the library. Although the geek probably would do actual research.

"Cas, you with me on this? We can't actually take this seriously, right?" Dean looked over at his friend.

Cas hesitated, then said slowly, "I'm not certain we can dismiss it, Dean."

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Dean exploded. "Last year you beat the hell out of me for wanting to say 'yes' to that dick, and now you're all for it?"

"That is not what I said Dean," Cas reached out and forcibly stopped him from turning and walking to the other side of the room. "I think that what Sam experienced was real, not that we should trust Michael or believe all that he said."

Dean really didn't want to believe that. "It's memories of the Pit, Cas. Hell’s pretty chaotic. Maybe Sam’s got something he made up mixed up in there with real memories. That might throw off your radar.”

Cas locked eyes with Dean. “You told Sam once that you remember everything that happened to you in Hell, in detail. Your nightmares are certainly vivid.”

Dean eyed him, not sure where this was going. “Yeah... but I don’t remember _everything_. Some stuff’s missing.”

“You do not remember me there, do you.” It wasn’t really a question.

Dean looked down at his hands. “Yeah, well, I _would_ be the guy who manages to forget the one good thing that happened to him in the Pit.”

Cas tilted his head to the side, his “does not compute” expression on. “You didn’t forget, Dean.”

And for one, heart-stopping fraction of a second, Dean thought Cas was about to finish with “It never happened. You’re still in Hell,” and morph into Alastair standing over him on the rack...

“The memory was taken from you.”

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then he realized Cas's explanation was still pretty damn ominous. “Okay... taken by who?”

“Whom.”

_“Cas.”_

“By me.”

“What? Why?”

“It was necessary.”

“How come?”

“Because your soul needed time to heal from the trauma, just as Sam’s does now." Cas held up a hand to stop Dean's retort. Dean decided to give Cas a chance to explain and bit his tongue. Cas nodded his thanks and continued. "I did something similar to what Death did with the wall in Sam's mind, though on a much smaller scale. It's why your memories of Hell came back to you in pieces over several weeks, rather than all at once." He frowned and studied the carpet. "I am ashamed to admit it now, but I thought it would be a kindness to completely take your recollection of the journey back to this plane. Most souls find the transition traumatic.”

Dean backed off. Took a breath. “Okay, so... Tell me what happened down there.”

“I cannot.” Before Dean could whip out the “Why the hell not?” he had ready, Cas stepped back into his personal space and growled at him. “You said it yourself once, Dean. ‘There aren’t words.’ Human speech can be exquisite, artful... but it is inexact even at its best, and attempting to use it to describe a metaphysical state of being like Hell is beyond frustrating.”

Dean glared at Cas. “Well give it your best shot anyway. I don’t like knowing my head’s been messed with, so make it right.” Just in case Cas still didn't get it, Dean added, "This right here? This is one of those 'regaining my trust' moments we talked about."

Cas broke eye contact and turned away from Dean, pacing a few steps toward the bed. Dean clenched his jaw because of course Cas would hold out on him. People always did. Daddy’s blunt little instrument was never on the needs-to-know list. Bobby had even kept Sam being back from him. Sam couldn’t really be blamed for that; the guy hadn’t had his soul. Bobby didn’t have that excuse. Dean had just hoped that maybe Cas, of all people, wouldn’t try to make his decisions for him all the damn time.

“I cannot tell you, Dean, but there may be a way I can show you, if you truly wish to know.”

Dean looked up. Cas turned to face him again, standing at the foot of the bed. Dean lifted his eyebrows and waited for Cas to elaborate.

Nothing. Just a big ol’ dramatic pause. Such a drama queen.

“What’re you waiting for, the soap to cut to a commercial? Show me how?”

“I believe I can take you into my memory of that time. I’ve never attempted anything like it before, but the principle is sound.”

“So basically you want to use my brain as a guinea pig.”

Cas's brow creased. Dean could practically hear him try to figure out how a guinea pig could possibly be involved in this situation. “No," Cas explained, as though Dean had completely missed the point the first time. "I want to use the connection between my grace and your soul to touch your mind to mine. Your physical brain will hardly be involved.”

“Oh well that’s comforting,” Dean snarked. Cas nodded, taking Dean's sarcasm at face value. Dean rolled his eyes and walked over to the bed. “So, what exactly’s involved with this experiment, huh? You knock me out with the two finger ninja move and I take a tour of your memories?”

“Something like that. I will pull your soul close to my grace and then guide your mind through my recollection of raising you. I shall...” Cas searched for the right word, “... _filter_ events so that you can comprehend them. It will feel similar to a dream, to you.”

Great, more Hell dreams. Well, Dean had plenty of experience with those, so what’s one more? He shrugged. “Ok. Why not?” He flopped down onto the mattress, rolled onto his back, and crossed his ankles. “Let’s do this.”

Cas sat down near Dean’s hip and extended his hand, but not to Dean’s forehead. Instead, Cas began pulling Dean’s left arm out of his sleeve.

“Um... Cas? What’re you doing?” Dean didn’t resist, though.

“Accessing my mark on your shoulder. Touching it will make gripping your soul easier.”

Huh. Okay. But... “Cas, man, that healed along with everything else when you zapped me back at Stull.” And Dean yanked his brain away from those memories like fingers from a hot stove.

“Yes, the physical mark is gone,” Cas agreed as he eased Dean’s arm free and lifted the sleeve of Dean’s black t-shirt, “but the spiritual mark is indelible.”

Cas fit his hand onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean was pretty sure he laid it over exactly where the scar used to be. There was an awkward moment where Dean just watched Cas’s face – he’d closed his eyes in concentration and a small tuft of hair curled over his forehead – and tried not to think about how weird they probably looked.

Then Cas exhaled loudly, Dean felt something deep inside him shift toward Cas, and suddenly his whole world was _awesome_. Dean felt the simple joy of ice cream on a hot day, driving the Impala down an open highway with all her windows rolled down, the afterglow of the best sex he’d ever had, and Sam smiling and laughing with him, all rolled into one emotion and dialed up to 11.

Dean heard himself giggle like a 12-year-old chick but he couldn’t hold it in. He grinned up at his angel, any lingering self-consciousness obliterated by the sheer delight rushing unchecked through him.

Cas returned the smile – an actual, full smile that for some reason made Dean all out guffaw – then gently pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead. Dean felt a brief sensation of falling, then lights out.

Dean opened his eyes to Hell. Fear, panic and that familiar, terrifying sense of _belonging_ shot through Dean as he tried to talk himself out of it. _Just a dream, Dean. Just a dream just a dream._ As usual, the mantra didn't help.

"Hell cannot touch you now, Dean. I am here." Cas's voice reverberated from everywhere and brought with it echoes of the strange happiness from earlier. Talk about emotional whiplash. Wait. The hotel. Cas.

"I'm not really here." Dean was in the middle of a nightmare about fucking Hell, so he gave himself a break for the Captain Obvious commentary.

"This is simply a sensory rendering of how I perceived the wavelengths of existence during this experience," Cas's voice came again. "You are safe, Dean." Okay. Safe. Safe is good.

Now that he wasn't having a panic attack, Dean looked around enough to recognize some of the scenery. He was intimately familiar with this corner of the Pit. This was _home_. Dean shuddered at the thought.

Even though the angel was invisible during this holodeck exercise, Cas touched Dean in a way that he somehow knew was meant to reassure. "Dean, you lived in this place for longer than anywhere else during your entire existence. It is only natural that it feels familiar to you. It does not mean that you belong here."

Dean sighed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas, but there's enough blood on my hands that I'm pretty sure this is where I'm headed when all's said and done."

The hellscape streaming by below them flickered for a moment, and Dean interpreted that as Cas's frustration. Dean was distracted from that weirdness by a light flaring nearby. _What the hell?_

Then Dean recognized where they were, exactly. He'd known they were in the right area, but now they hovered practically on top of the rack where Alistair stationed Dean during his apprenticeship. The whole place reeked of despair. Dark shapes of reds, blacks, and yellows twisted and curved around an undulating, fractured white light in the center of the space. Dean thought the scene was kind of beautiful, and his stomach roiled at his reaction.

“It was the first time I ever felt angry with my Father,” Cas narrated, though Dean still couldn’t see him. “I couldn’t understand why something so beautiful and bright must be exposed to such ugliness and darkness.”

Belatedly, Dean realized the whirling shapes below them were souls being tortured. Then Cas's words sunk in. That white glowy thing was _him_. Dean was watching himself rip apart other souls.

"Cas, I know I asked for full disclosure and everything," Dean gasped, "but if you don't want me to puke all over your mind-meld, you gotta skip ahead through this part because I can't watch this."

The angel didn't respond in words, but the scenery below them blurred for a moment, then refocused. Now it was lit from above. A brilliant blue-white light burned down, and the demons and tortured souls alike writhed away from it.

"Cas, is that you?" Dean breathed.

"Yes."

"Wow. You're such a badass."

Dean felt his angel's amusement, even as he watched in consternation as the firefly version of himself dodged away from the angel's brilliance. Cas's incorporeal self followed, and Dean's soul slunk among the cowering demons, like a child covering his eyes so the monster wouldn't see him. Seeing it from the angel's perspective, Dean was frankly embarrassed for his past self.

"Guess I made the whole 'escape from Hell' thing harder for you, huh?"

"You held a deep conviction that you belonged here," Cas replied. He didn't mention that their conversation two minutes ago proved that Dean _still_ held that conviction.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I pulled you out anyway."

Dean smirked a little at that. "I guess I can see why sometimes you don't think I'm very good at making decisions for myself."

Cas's gratitude leaked through to Dean, even though he felt the angel trying to hide it.

Below them, memory Cas had gotten a vice grip on soulified Dean and dragged him away from the demons clawing at them both. Once free of the inky shapes twisting around them, past-Cas rocketed upward, airlifting Dean's ungrateful, unwilling ass out of the Pit.

Dean felt like he was along for the ride for a second before he gasped awake in the motel bed. "Holy shit."


	8. Blue on Black

Seeing himself in Hell again had affected Dean, and Castiel knew it. He was currently weak and leaking grace, but still angel enough to observe the struggle Dean waged against himself. The man's desperate hope that he was not irreparably damaged by his time in Perdition wrestled with his stubborn refusal to believe he held any intrinsic worth. He also saw Dean's faint hope that his younger brother's visions of Michael and Lucifer were fantasy. It saddened Castiel to watch it flicker and die.

Knowing that both Michael and Lucifer were currently able to reach Sam's mind troubled Castiel, to say the least. He looked over to where the brothers sat on opposite sides of the small motel room's desk, Dean on his computer and Sam poring over some of the texts they brought with them from Bobby's. Castiel himself had just finished ensuring their room would remain fully warded for the duration of their stay, and that task had fatigued him more than he wanted to admit. He felt his connection with Dean funneling energy from the human's soul into his grace, but he could do nothing to stop it. Dean's soul was very insistent that Castiel be well. Castiel knew he needed to speak with the brothers about the question on his mind soon, before Dean succumbed to sleep while his spirit repaired itself.

"Sam, how did Michael touch your mind? I did not think such a thing would be possible," Castiel asked.

Perfectly in sync, both hunters looked up at him. "Hey Cas, didn't know you were back," Dean said. Castiel surmised from Dean's tone that he had done something wrong, but he wasn't interested in finding out what at the moment.

Sam glanced back and forth between Dean and Castiel before replying. "Through Dean, somehow. He said Dean 'consented enough' for that."

Dean stood and stepped away from the desk at that. "What?! No I didn't!" He looked to Castiel for an explanation. "What the hell is he talking about?"

"I assume that Lucifer is able to reach Sam's mind because of their connection as archangel and vessel." He turned to Sam for confirmation, and the hunter nodded.

"Yeah, that's what he said. Michael said he was able to talk to me because Dean was asleep nearby and somehow had consented enough for Michael to use him as a cell tower, but I don't know what he was referring to."

"Yeah, and neither do I, so what the hell?" Dean dropped back down onto Bobby's sofa, sagging into it enough that Castiel knew the human would be asleep again very soon... Which, if Sam was correct, could be to their advantage.

"I propose we ask him," he said.

"What?" both Sam and Dean asked.

"We have a rare opportunity to question Michael in an environment where we have a tactical advantage," Castiel explained. "He cannot take Dean without express consent, and reaching Sam's mind seems to be difficult, if what I felt when I woke him from his visions is any indication. We will have the upper hand."

Sam ran both hands through his hair, and Dean pressed his fingers to his eyes. They gazed at each other for a moment before coming to an agreement without words. Sam looked up at Castiel.

"Seems like too good of an opportunity to waste."

"And I want to know what the heck I did that makes Michael think he can use me to play telephone," Dean chimed in. "So, how do we do this?"

"It will be the first time Sam initiates contact, but he should be able to invite Michael by opening his mind and praying, provided all other conditions are right," Castiel relayed his hypothesis. He had always been good at theory.

"What other conditions?" Dean asked around a yawn.

"You sleeping somewhere in the vicinity, dumbass," Sam supplied.

Dean huffed and lay supine on the couch, fluffing one of the cushions beneath his head. "Shouldn't be a problem, what with Mr. Energizer Bunny over there recharging non-stop."

Castiel felt a pang of guilt at that. "I am sorry, Dean."

"S'okay, man," Dean mumbled, his eyes now closed. "I'm just teasing."

Through their connection, Castiel sensed the honesty behind the words, and it warmed him. He stepped beside the couch and, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, nudged the man's mind over the edge into sleep.

"Are you ready, Sam?"

The younger man nodded. "So, just relax and pray, right?"

Castiel walked over to his side and laid a hand on Sam's head. "Yes. I will watch and pull you out if it becomes necessary."

"Thanks. That actually does make me feel better." Sam smiled, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Castiel waited until he felt Michael's familiar presence, then cautiously entered Sam's mind.

Sam's psyche placed them in a massive library, the one from Stanford University, if Castiel was not mistaken. A place of both familiarity and learning for the hunter, who perched on the edge of a chair at one of the study tables. Castiel manifested in Jimmy Novak's form to allow Sam to see him and sat down beside the fidgeting hunter.

"Cas!" Sam started a bit, then pushed his hair behind his ears. "Is Michael here?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded. "I can feel him."

"I just wanted to wait until we were all here for this conversation," said the young man suddenly sitting across from them. "It seemed rude to start without you, little brother." Michael smiled at his own joke, the face of 18-year-old Dean Winchester brightening with it.

Castiel frowned. "If you come in peace, why do you appear as Dean? He hasn't given you permission to use his form."

Michael tilted his head, his features settling in a pensive expression which looked very strange on Dean's face. "I did not choose this form, Castiel. Dean is dreaming of the first time he had intercourse in his vehicle, so he is this age in his own mind, right now."

"I _so_ did not need to know that," Sam interrupted. "Cas, we have more important questions." Castiel nodded, giving Sam the lead in their interrogation. "How are you able to contact me through Dean? What I mean is, when did he give you permission?"

Michael looked over at Castiel, then. "You should have asked your angel before contacting me. It would have saved us both a lot of effort." When Castiel didn't react, Michael shook his head. "Have you spent so long in close quarters with mortals that you've lost your perfect memory, brother?"

The archangel leaned forward and spoke with Dean's adult voice, _"I give myself over wholly to serve God and you guys."_ Then Castiel remembered that night in Bobby's junkyard, Sam locked up in the panic room and a desperate Dean standing in front of him, willing to swear anything to anyone in order to save his brother. Castiel bowed his head.

Michael straightened his back and his voice returned to the lighter, higher pitch of a younger Dean, with less weight to carry on his shoulders. "I suppose I should thank you, Castiel," Michael said. "Without your direct influence on the Righteous Man, I would be completely trapped in the cage with Lucifer."

Sam turned to look at him, the beginnings of betrayal in his eyes. "Cas, what's he talking about?"

Castiel couldn't meet Sam's eyes. "When you were locked in Bobby's panic room, shortly before Lucifer was released, I was ordered to extract an oath from Dean, for his loyalty and service to God and His angels."

"And that oath was enough?"

Michael nodded. "In that moment, your brother unlocked the door for me."

"So why didn't you open it and go through? You were pretty eager to use Dean as your sock puppet, according to Zachariah," Sam snarled.

Michael made a disgusted sound. "Zachariah was a scheming, sniveling pain in my ass. I didn't take Dean because I am a good son. I follow the spirit of my Father's law, not just the letter. I will wait for Dean to ask for me before I consider myself truly invited."

"And this?" Sam waved a hand at Michael's current form. "Using him to make your prison phone call?"

"Extreme circumstances," Michael parried. "And from what you told me about Raphael, it's a good thing I took this small liberty." The archangel looked over to Castiel again. "You must stop Raphael from opening the door to Purgatory, _at all costs_ , Castiel."

"I understand the importance."

"I don't think you do, little brother. You're too young to remember what Creation was like before our Father made Purgatory. It is a prison of flesh and blood and endless night for the most atrocious of His experiments, and Raphael is about to let them all loose on Earth. There are things older and darker than the twisted souls of monsters in Purgatory."

Michael's eyes bored into Castiel's as the lesser angel and Sam absorbed his words. Castiel couldn't help but think the archangel's concern for Earth was genuine.

"Dean is waking," Michael said, returning his gaze to Sam. "I must go, but remember this: If you are ever in dire need, have Dean call my name and say 'yes.' I will be listening."

Michael disappeared, and Castiel gently shepherded Sam back to full awareness.

***

Dean was just rounding third base with Shirley Cunningham, their teenage bodies crammed into the back seat of his baby, when the phone started ringing. But wait, that was Sammy's ringtone. What's Sammy's phone doing... Oh, right.

The dream vaporized and Dean dragged his eyes open just as blessed silence fell back on Bobby's study. For all of three seconds. Then Dean's cell went off. A quick glance showed Sam and Cas both blinking back into the real world, too. Dean squinted at his caller ID. Bobby. Looked like the recap of the Michael talk was going to have to wait for a minute. Dean would bet an arm that Bobby had called Sam first, then him, so whatever he had to say, it was important. He pulled himself upright and put the phone to his ear.

"Yeah?"

"I need you boys' help on this, the angel too," Bobby said. Dean's forehead creased at how tired the older hunter sounded. The fact that they'd skipped past any good-natured sarcasm didn't help, either. Bobby was only this serious business when really smelly shit hit the fan.

"The zombie thing get outta hand?" Dean asked.

"Way the hell out of hand, but that's not the worst of it. I figured out what's doing the raising, or rather _who_."

"Hang on a sec, Bobby," Dean interrupted. "I'm gonna put you on speaker." He did so and gestured for Sam and Cas to come closer. "Bobby's got a lead on who's behind the zombie thing."

"I had to go back to Sumerian writings to find it, but yeah," Bobby's tinny voice echoed from the speaker. "Ever hear of the Epic of Gilgamesh?"

Dean looked over to Sam, who nodded. Dean spoke toward the phone, "Yeah, Bobby, we know what it is." Then he mouthed at Sam, "What is it?"

"It's pretty much one of the first things ever written down after humans in Mesopotamia figured out writing things down was a good idea," Bobby said, clearly aware that Dean had no clue. "The guy who wrote it was a pretty powerful psychic, too, from what I can find. My other sources have him as being a hell of a shaman, or something similar."

"Okay, so what does this have to do with the zombies?" Dean asked.

"Well, the undead here started making more dead, who then became undead, by chomping on the living, but some pretty specific living. Cops, national guard, a couple military history professors, and so on."

Dean didn't like the sound of that.

"They're building an army," Sam breathed, clearly _also_ not liking the sound of that.

"Pretty much," Bobby agreed. "Now, I never thought of zombies as the strategy type, so instead of researching the walking dead I started researching stuff that can control the dearly departed, and I found an interesting bit about the goddess Ishtar in that epic. At one point, she goes down to the gates of the netherworld and demands to be let in. When the gatekeeper refuses, she threatens him."

The speaker crackled as Bobby shuffled papers around, and then he read:  
 _“If thou openest not the gate to let me enter,_  
I will break the door, I will wrench the lock,  
I will smash the door-posts, I will force the doors.  
I will bring up the dead to eat the living.  
And the dead will outnumber the living.”

Bobby fell silent, and they all absorbed that for a second. Dean looked up at Sam again. "She's not just building an army, she's building a freaking _zombie_ army."

Sam and Cas both looked as worried as Dean felt. They had an unknown, powerful enemy raising an unkillable army she could apparently control like puppets, and they didn't even know what she wanted.

Bobby broke the silence. "So, like I said, I could use you boys' help on this."

Dean, Cas and Sam shared a look, each weighing their options. They all came up to the same conclusion. Sam bit his lip and aimed his voice at the phone in Dean's hand. "I don't know if we can, Bobby. We're pretty deep in this Raphael stuff."

The older hunter sighed. "Well, I figured it was worth a shot. If you free up your weekend, get your butts to Des Moines and start driving south, 'cause they're on the move. I'll be in the ass-end of nowhere, rounding up manpower."

"Will do, Bobby," Dean said, then caught the gruff man before he hung up. "And Bobby, if it gets really, apocalyptically bad, call us."

Bobby chuckled. "I will, son. Take care."

"You too, Bobby," Sam and Dean chorused before Dean hung up and replaced the phone in his pocket. The brothers looked over at Castiel.

"You know anything useful about this Ishtar chick?" Dean asked.

The angel shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. I have never encountered her before, and she was gone from the earth by the time I was stationed here."

"Guess I didn't expect you'd know something that would make it easy." Dean gave his angel a small smile. "We're just not that lucky." Even Sam laughed a little at his brother's feeble attempt to lighten the mood. Then Dean brought it right back down again.

"So, how'd the powwow with Michael go?"

***

Ronnie was glad when Ishtar stopped for a while. They'd been walking south for weeks, and even though he never got tired (one of the perks of being dead), he was _bored_. Southern Iowa offered absolutely nothing to look at. The whole place was just an endless stream of corn, corn, more corn, random field with dandelions, and back to corn again. So, when Ishtar stopped at a farmhouse and sent a few of the others in to get dinner, Ronnie felt happy.

The feeling didn't last long, because Ishtar wasn't happy. Two of the others (he'd stopped bothering to learn names when he died) came back from someplace else and whatever Ishtar got out of their heads made her mad.

"That stupid angel wants to open Purgatory," she vented to Ronnie. Well, it was entirely possible she was talking to herself, but Ronnie liked to think she confided in him. After all, he was her first. "If anyone is going to devour those mutilated souls it should be me." She smirked. "Now that would make Him _really_ mad."

After dinner - Ronnie never thought he'd think of other people as delicious, but if the shoe fit... - Ishtar called him over. Now she really was talking to him.

"You will go ahead of me into the large city to the south."

_Kansas City?_

"Yes. Find where the winged nuisance plans to open the Gate." She reached out a pale, barely decayed hand and touched Ronnie's head. "It will be marked with these."

A series of symbols flashed though Ronnie's mind, and he knew he would not forget them. _I will find it._

"Go then. You shall be my eyes and my ears. Through you, I will know my enemy's plans. If anyone tries to stop you, kill them, but do not eat. Go now."

So Ronnie left.

***

Several hours of talking, arguing, sleeping, then arguing again later, Dean and Sam still couldn't agree on whether or not to trust Michael, which made planning an attack on Raphael (if and when they find him again) really difficult.

"Sam, the guy wants to wear me around like a suit of armor!" Dean yelled from the kitchen. He definitely needed beer for round two of this conversation. "That's all I am to him. A thing to be used and then tossed away. You of all people should be able to understand that."

As Dean yanked his beer out of the fridge and straightened up, Sam ran both hands through his hair, wearing his most epic "frustrated with my stubborn-ass brother" face. "It's not the same as with Lucifer, and I am the best person to be able to tell the difference, because I'm the only one who's had both of them in my head!" He spread his hands, palms out. "Why won't you trust me on this?" he implored.

"It's not that I don't trust you Sam, we've been over this." Dean twisted the cap off his beer. "We just can't afford to be wrong on this one!"

"I know I'm not wrong!" Sam fumed. "Michael will side with us against Raphael. Hell, he's the one that clued us in on just what a terrible idea it is to open the gate to Purgatory in the first place!"

Cas pushed off from leaning against the door frame that divided the study and the kitchen, halfway between the brothers. "Maybe we should consider–"

"Shut up, Cas!" both Winchesters ordered.

Cas threw his hands in the air and closed his mouth, a tactical retreat from the battle. Dean took a swig and stepped closer to his pacing little brother. "Sammy, it's really not about me not trusting you, I promise."

"That's exactly what it's about, Dean," Sam insisted, his voice cracking like ice on a lake in early spring, not ready to break, but less than solid. "This is exactly how you acted when I wanted to say 'yes' to Lucifer."

"And look what happened!"

"We won," Sam insisted. "That's what happened. And it was my choice."

"And this is mine." Dean's grip on his beer tightened.

Sam caught a glimpse of Dean's white knuckles, then sighed and hung his head in defeat. "I'm just saying, Dean, keep it in mind. We're up against two major bad guys here that we have zero chance of beating on our own. I know we've been able to pull some pretty spectacular upset wins before, but this?" He should his head. "We need to keep Michael as our emergency 'don't die' plan."

Dean conceded Sam's point with a nod and another swallow of beer. Michael as the lifeboat plan. He could live with that. As long as he didn't have to actually think about it, because Sam was right. This _was_ just like when Sam said "yes" to Lucifer, and just like back then, Dean's real reason for pushing back was fear. The thought of giving up all control like that fucking terrified him.

Dean looked over at Cas, and from the way the angel looked back, he was pretty sure the bastard just eavesdropped on Dean's little internal confession. _You'd better not be reading my mind, Cas,_ he thought.

Cas immediately looked straight at the wall across from him, then at a random lamp, basically anywhere but at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes. _Stay out of my head, man,_ he thought, in what he hoped was a forgiving tone. He found that, against all odds, he didn't actually mind the thought that Cas knew he was scared. God knew Cas had seen him worse, what with Hell and all. _But if you ever breathe a word of this to Sam I will kick your feathered ass, I swear to God._

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean realized that he and his angel had been staring at each other again. That's a habit he really needed to break.

"So," Sam said. "If we have Dean calling Michael as the failsafe, we need to come up with a plan A."

Cas and Dean both nodded. Between the three of them, over the next four hours they hammered out a pretty solid plan, and Dean was confident he'd never have to even consider Michael. Team Free Will could handle the teenage mutant ninja angel and then deal with Ishtar. They were ready.


	9. God's Gonna Cut You Down

In retrospect, they sure as Hell hadn't been ready.

Team Free Will's plan was simple. Raphael needed Dean in order to fully charge the Hand of God and open the door to Purgatory, so when Raphael got a little too flashy with his lightening dominance display in Kansas City, Dean, Sam and Cas sped south. After they set up a base camp at a shady motel near the industrial district (plenty of empty warehouses nearby), Dean headed off on his own and oh-so-subtly strolled past a couple Jehovah's Witnesses a few times. Meanwhile, Sam and Cas laid the groundwork for a trap in one of the more rundown warehouses.

Sure enough, Dean only had to loiter for a few minutes before a couple goons showed up. Large and Larger, as Dean dubbed them in his head, had bouncers for vessels. Either that or the poor saps had spent way too much time in the gym for zero monetary gain. Dean took one look at Large and Larger and decided brawling to give Sam and Cas more time to set up their holy oil mousetrap was not an option. Dean recognized the eyes of beings that enjoyed inflicting pain.

He ran. They pursued. Fast.

Dean careened around alleyway corners, dodged upturned trashcans, and hurdled a low fence. Impressive, if he did say so himself. Dean pumped his arms to eek every ounce of speed possible out of his body. Legs and lungs burning, he led Large and Larger to the derelict warehouse Sam and Cas had picked out.

Later, Dean would look back and kick himself for not wondering why the goon angels chased him on foot and never teleported to catch him.

Dean sprinted down the ramp to the warehouse's service entrance, burst through the Employees Only door Sam left ajar for him, pivoted and slammed the rusting metal door shut behind him. Panting, he leaned back against the door and squinted into the gloom. As soon as Dean's eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the warehouse, he knew they were screwed.

***

Sam hated leaving Dean behind at the motel, knowing that he would deliberately put himself in danger in a few minutes. He didn't care that this part of the plan was Dean's idea. Using his brother as bait always grated on Sam, no matter how small the game they were trapping... and Raphael was _not_ small game. Sam sighed and inspected his work on the dusty warehouse floor. The holy oil barely glistened in the dim building, the streetlight outside too weak to illuminate any space not directly beneath one of the dirty windows. Good. The oil disappeared when Sam blocked the faint light with his body.

Sam piled two empty crates on top of one another and shoved them into the perfect spot to disguise the trap in the dark. He glanced up to check on Cas's progress. Halfway across the warehouse, the angel painted angel banishing sigils on the wall, ready to be activated with a little human blood and desperation if necessary. They planned to scatter them around the building as a failsafe. Sam turned back to his makeshift light-blockers and jostled them to test their steadiness. Behind the wobbling crates, in the far corner of the warehouse, something moved.

Sam stilled. He pulled the demon-killing knife from his jeans and scanned the dark.

Nothing moved.

Sam tensed, felt his pulse in his fingers where he gripped the knife.

Something moved. _A rustle right behind him._

Sam spun, his knife hand swinging in a lethal arc.

Castiel caught Sam's wrist with one hand, his eyes narrowed and head tilted. "Sam, what were you looking for?"

"Fucking Christ!" Sam exploded. He ripped his hand out of Cas's grip and staggered back a step. "I almost killed you." The angel kindly did not point out Sam's exaggeration. Instead, he repeated his question.

Sam shook his head. "I thought I saw something moving back there. It creeped me out for a second."

Castiel tilted his head the opposite direction to see around the stacked crates. "I assure you Sam, there is nothing there." He looked back at Sam. "You have been on edge since we left the hotel. I assume you are worried about Dean, as I am."

Sam shook his head and let out a gust of breath. "I just wish Dean wouldn't throw his life around like that."

Cas nodded. "I wish that as well, but this was his decision."

"Yeah, I know, and it's not the first time he's been bait." Sam tucked the knife behind his back. "That doesn't mean I have to like it, though."

"No, it doesn't." Cas bent down and peered at the thin line of holy oil now lit only by the small flashlight Sam had perched on an unidentifiable piece of derelict machinery. "I don't like it either, but Dean would never have allowed anyone else to take his place, even if someone else would have worked to draw Raphael to us."

Sam nodded. "I know. You're right." He scuffed one boot against the floor to sweep their most obvious footprints out of the dust. "That's the problem, though. Dean doesn't really want anything for himself other than to be useful to the people he cares about."

"I know the feeling," Cas murmured.

"He deserves so much more than that, though," Sam continued, oblivious to Cas's commentary. "He just won't let himself have anything he really wants."

Castiel stood, his back to Sam. "Your brother still punishes himself for his sins. He carries guilt for what he did in Hell, and serves penance for every person he has ever failed to save. Dean seeks to scrub his soul free of stains it does not bear." The angel turned toward Sam with a rueful smile. "I would know. I own it, after all."

The naked remorse in Cas's voice kept Sam from yelling at him for that last part. Instead, it makes him consider something that he'd never thought of before. Not seriously, anyway. "Well, if Dean was gonna sell his soul again, I'm glad it was to you." He smiled and stepped closer to the angel. "I'm glad you stuck with us, Cas."

Sam led the way over to the machine where he'd stashed his duffle full of supplies and set the flashlight. "I mean it, Cas," he said, partly to end the awkward silence and partly because Cas's face said he didn't believe Sam. "You've been really good for Dean. He'd never tell you this, but you really mean a lot to him."

Cas closed his eyes briefly and then handed Sam the duffle bag. "That's very kind of you, Sam, but Dean does not think that highly of me, especially after I betrayed his trust."

Sam swiped the flashlight off the machine as they walked past. "That was a massive misunderstanding, Cas. You had his best interests at heart, and that's what counts, in the end." Sam studied Cas's face for a moment. "Dean really cares about you."

There it was. Sam had caught glimpses before, but even in the dull warehouse, he recognized the tiny smile and soft eyes of hoping your crush likes you back. He'd seen that look in the mirror when he first started dating Jess.

Castiel cleared his throat and fidgeted with the sleeves of his trenchcoat as they settled into their hiding place in the warehouse's old office, conveniently located in the darkest corner of the ground floor. "I appreciate the sentiment, Sam," he deflected, "but I'll believe it when I hear it from Dean."

Clearly subtlety wasn't working. Time for blunt honesty. "That's kind of my point, Cas," Sam said. "Dean's my brother, and I love him, but he's an emotionally constipated ass." Cas glared, offended on Dean's behalf. Sam plowed ahead, despite the escalating risk of smiting. "You know I'm right." He wet his lips and laid a hand on the angel's shoulder. "Look, all I'm saying is, if you want something more to happen between you and Dean, you're going to have to be the one to make the first move." Sam let his hand slide off the trenchcoat.

Castiel pursed his lips, brow furrowed. Oppressive, uncomfortable silence clung to the air around them for way too long before the angel spoke, faltering. "You... That is, um." He breathed deeply, then started again. "Sam, you would approve if I pursued a more intimate relationship with Dean?"

Sam snorted. "I don't get to 'approve' anything, Cas. Dean's a grown man. But no, of course it wouldn't bother me." He made a face. "As long as I never have to hear you say the word 'intimate' in reference to my brother ever again."

Castiel smiled and huffed. "I am glad." He leaned toward the hunter, blue eyes sincere. "You're a good friend, Sam, and a good brother. Thank you."

Sam chuckled. "Don't thank me yet. I can't help you get past all of Dean's issues, and he's still going to be a total dick half the time." Sam shrugged. "Plus there's the whole you being shaped like a guy thing for him to get over."

Castiel squinted and tilted his head again. "Get over? I certainly wouldn't be the first male partner Dean ever engaged in sexual activity with."

Sam spluttered, spitting his non-existant drink all over himself. "What?!"

Cas's eyes widened. "I should not be discussing this with you without Dean's permission." He turned away, neck stiff. "My apologies."

The stark click-clack of footsteps echoed from across the warehouse and startled Sam out of his shock. _My brother's full-on had gay sex and never told me, holy fuck._ Sam glanced at his watch, then frowned. Either Dean was super early or something was wrong. Sam jerked his head at Cas, signaling the angel to move to the other side of the office. Sam crouched and peeked around the corner.

Two giant pairs of hands grabbed him and tossed him toward the center of the warehouse.

Sam landed with a grunt and unsheathed Ruby's knife as he rolled onto his back. A high-heeled boot pinned his wrist to the floor before he could find his feet. Behind him he heard the sibilant clashes and clangs of angel swords in battle. Sam twisted his neck and back to bring his captor into his line of sight. Raphael sneered down her nose at him. "Did you honestly think I would follow Dean in here blindly? Was that truly your plan?" She twisted her ankle until Sam's wrist cracked and he dropped the knife with a shout. "I'm astonished at the sheer hubris of it."

White light flared through the warehouse and Raphael stepped away from Sam, who reached over and snatched the knife off the floor with his left hand. He prayed Cas had just taken out one of Raphael's henchmen and not the other way around. Cradling his broken wrist, Sam clambered to his feet and darted toward the nearest banishing sigil. He only got halfway there before another one of Raphael's nameless minions tackled him.

"This is pointless, Castiel," Raphael's voice rang above the clamor of the fighting. "You are not strong enough to fight me. You never have been, and you never will be. I am an archangel."

Sam glanced up from his struggle to get the wanna-be linebacker angel off him. Cas and Raphael circled each other, swords drawn. Sam bucked and his opponent drove a fist into Sam's kidney. Castiel cried out in pain. Sam cursed. Firelight burst flickering shadows into being throughout the warehouse.

With his face pressed into the floor by his tackler, Sam could only see out of one eye, but it was enough to see the burning circle of holy oil and Castiel trapped inside it, bleeding. Sam grunted and stabbed wherever he could reach with the knife, though it was useless against the angel. The click of Raphael's vessel's high heels announced the archangel's approach. Sam knew he couldn't do any damage, but on principle he lashed out with the knife. He cut nothing but air, but A for effort, right?

"You are a tenacious little insect, aren't you?" Raphael marvelled. She struck Sam across the face and the world went gray.

Black. Gray. Black. Gray. Black. Fuzzy colors.

Sam blinked a few more times, bringing the world back into focus. He look up, still pinned to the floor, and his heart sank into his stomach. Sam clenched his teeth against the nausea and tried to pull free of his captors as two more of Raphael's angels dragged Dean toward the corner with the office, the outside wall of which was now covered in symbols. The crates Sam had stacked earlier now had chains fastened to them, the cuffs open and waiting for their victim. Raphael had collected everything she needed to open Purgatory.

***

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Dean looked around the crowded, cluttered warehouse as Large and Larger, Holy Enforcers(TM) frogmarched him toward the far end. Sam struggled against two giant angels who kept him pinned face-down on the dusty floor, and Cas stared at Dean from inside a ring of fire, his face bloody and his cerulean eyes wide.

 _It certainly doesn't look good for our heroes, folks,_ Dean thought. He figured Raphael must have done some recon before sending his muscle after Dean, and he brought _way_ more backup than they expected. Dean has never been smart enough to back down from an unwinnable fight, though. His eyes darted around for possible weapons even as the muscle manhandled him toward... Oh. Crap. Raphael waited beside a setup very similar to the one back in Ellensburg. Squiggly sigils on the floor, chains to hold a body upright, a line of bowls half-empty with weird ingredients that had already been mixed into the paint (probably blood) decorating the floor and wall. The ritual was set up the same, just for Dean instead of a kid. Well, at least now Dean knew what to expect.

"Dean Winchester," Raphael gloated. "I'm so glad you could join us."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Here we go with the monologue-ing. You gonna tell me exactly how you're going to kill me now, Dr. No?"

"And why would I do that when I can simply show you?" The archangel glanced behind Dean at the henchmen holding him up. "Get him ready. I'll finish with Castiel."

Dean struggled against the iron arms that strapped him to the two large crates supporting the chains. "I'm the one you wanted, Raphael, so leave them alone." Raphael quirked an eyebrow and sauntered to Castiel's holy fire cage. "Leave them alone you bastard!" Dean shouted before Large (or maybe Larger, Dean had lost track) tied a rag around his mouth, muting his yells.

"Castiel, did you honestly believe you could trick me?"

Castiel didn't back away. "We had to try."

"Perhaps, but now you're going to die for nothing, and Lucifer is not here to bring you back this time."

Cas narrowed his eyes. "It was not Lucifer who brought me back, brother. It was our Father, both times. Joshua said so."

Raphael chuckled. "Joshua is a menial fool who thinks because he hears whispers, our Father speaks to him."

The chains tightened around Dean's hips and stomach. Dean grunted. It felt like a punch. He met Cas's eyes. The angel looked back at Raphael and tried a different tactic. "Brother, please, do not do this. Opening Purgatory is dangerous."

That made the archangel laugh outright. "Are you frightened, little seraph? Don't worry. I won't let the monsters get you."

With that, Raphael returned to his place in front of Dean and began the ritual, ignoring Castiel's continued shouts. As the archangel chanted, mixing the rest of the various (creepy-looking, even by Dean's standards) ingredients as he went, Dean started to drift, despite his best efforts to stay focused.

It was like napping in a rowboat tied to a dock, but the rope anchoring him kept getting longer and longer. It got harder and harder to pay attention to what was happening around him in the warehouse as the feelings swirling around inside of him got stronger. He felt fear. He felt joy. He felt anger. He felt love. He felt pain when Raphael started using his true voice, but it didn't seem to matter. He felt everything all at once. It became so overwhelming, Dean didn't even notice when his eyes closed and his chest started to glow.

***

Through their connection, Castiel felt everything happening to Dean as Raphael pulled the energy from his human's soul into the Elhiym Yad. Once Dean's body slackened against the bonds holding him to the wall, Castiel couldn't hold himself back anymore. Despite the holy fire around him, he reached his grace out toward Dean. To his utter shock, the hunter's soul reached back, apparently unfazed by what was happening and oblivious to the holy fire.

_Dean?_

_Cas!_ Castiel had expected a cry for help. Instead, Dean sounded _pleased_.

_Dude, how cool is this?! I can friggin’ touch you. Like, the real you. You're awesome._

Castiel smiled, despite their dire circumstances. He'd forgotten how honest and eager human souls could be, once freed from the weight of their bodies. _Yes, Dean._ He stretched out and gripped Dean tightly. No matter what Raphael did, Castiel would hold fast to his hunter.

The archangel's true voice crescendoed as he reached the end of the spell. Castiel heard Sam cry out behind him and wished he could shield the human's ears. Dean started to slip away from him and Castiel tightened his hold. He tied his grace to Dean's soul long ago and would not relinquish that connection now. He gasped at a stab of pain. The weapon had begun absorbing the remnants of his grace along with Dean's soul, but Castiel didn't care. As the weapon tore more of his grace away, the pain flared through Castiel's bond with Dean.

_Cas, you're ripping me apart! It's pulling me away._

_I won't let you go, Dean._

_You have to, Cas. It'll kill you otherwise. Suck all your grace right out._

_It may kill you if I let go._

_I'll be okay. I don't think it's going to hurt me, Cas. I think it likes me._

Castiel has no idea what would make Dean think an inanimate object had affection for him, and he was about to explain that to Dean when the soul's next words brought him up short.

_Cas, we've talked about trusting each other. I need you to trust me._

Castiel let his vessel's eyes close. He did trust Dean. He just couldn't bear to lose him. He pushed those conflicting emotions toward Dean, then said, _Come back to me after. Whatever happens, please come back to me._

_I will, Cas. And, me too. With the feelings and stuff. Me too._

Castiel let go, and then Dean was gone.

As Castiel reopened his eyes, Raphael turned the Elhiym Yad toward the symbols drawn in blood on the cracked office wall. The earth shuddered as the gate to Purgatory opened.

"What have you done, Raphael?" Castiel whispered. Wind tugged at his coat as the air in the room rushed into the gaping maw that led to someplace so dark even angelic eyes could not see through the black.

***

Sam couldn't pull his eyes away from the spectacular light show that his brother's soul put on as the Deus Manu pulled it in, even though it was part of a spell that might bring on a second apocalypse. Whorls of incandescent gold and shimmering white twisted and curled their way from Dean's glowing chest into the small orb Raphael held in her hand. It was beautiful.

He was so captivated watching Raphael's spellwork, Sam didn't notice the warehouse was under attack until a zombie tackled the angel holding him down. "What the fuck!" Sam scuttled backwards, and a hundred or so freaking zombies barrelled into the warehouse from every window and door, smashing their way through what they couldn't open, overwhelming the Raphael's dozen angels with sheer numbers as they flowed across the floor.

In the center of the melee stood a college-aged girl, her only clothing a morgue sheet. _That has to be Ishtar,_ Sam thought.

"I will not let some bastard child take what is rightfully mine!" she yelled loudly enough to be heard over the zombie-versus-angel battle happening around them. God, that sounded like a terrible SciFi movie (sorry, _SyFy_ ).

Raphael and her supporters (the ones who weren't currently fighting zombies, anyway) all turned away from the door to Purgatory and faced Ishtar. The archangel's eyes widened for a second, then she glared. "Ancient goddess or not, I will destroy you if you get in my way."

With his captors distracted by the angel/goddess pissing contest, Sam limped toward Cas, dodging skirmishes along the way. He shrugged out of his jacket, hissing through his teeth as the sleeve caught on his broken wrist. Sam met Cas's eyes and held a finger to his lips. Using his good arm, he smothered as much of the holy fire as he could, freeing his friend. The angel stepped out of the dying ring of fire. "Thank you, Sam," he whispered.

Sam nodded and turned his head to watch Raphael and Ishtar circle each other. "Now what?" he looked back at Cas, but the angel had vanished. Sam snapped his eyes back to the showdown in front of the portal, and sure enough, Cas appeared directly behind Raphael and snatched the Hand of God away from the archangel.

Raphael spun to face Castiel, turning her back to Ishtar. "I will slay you for this, brother!"

"No, you won't." Castiel activated the weapon housing Dean's soul and the same brilliant white and gold light from before shot out of the orb and hit Raphael square in the chest. The archangel screamed and fell backward. The light that exploded outward from her chest wound forced Sam to squeeze his eyes shut.

When he opened them again, there was nothing left of Raphael but an empty vessel and the ashy imprint of wings on the floor.

Castiel sagged, the arm holding the Hand of God dropping to his side. "I am sorry, brother." His gaze fell to the weapon in his hand. "Thank you, Dean."

Ishtar screamed, her fingers curling into claws. "I wasn't done playing with him!"

She leaped over Raphael's corpse, grabbed Cas's blood-stained collar and thrust her face within inches of his, raising a jagged knife over her head. Sam had no doubt it could kill angels, because it shone with the same inner light as their silver blades. He pulled his gun to shoot Ishtar, not really because he thought it would help, but as a distraction, when her strike jerked to a stop.

The goddess tilted her head, lips parting, and she shifted her grip to the angel's jaw as he struggled to back away. "Wait... I've seen you through the eyes of my dead," she murmured to herself. "I've heard the other angels talk about you. You're the one He raised, _twice_. A favored son." Her smile was terrifying. "A new toy for me to play with."

Sam leapt into action. Raphael's angels fled without their leader, but Sam was no coward. He slashed and hacked through every zombie standing between him and his friend. Even with one working wrist, Sam was deadly. But there were so many to get past, and they didn't die. Even the ones Sam stabbed in the eye or slit their throat got back up to keep fighting. All the while, Ishtar's high voice filtered through the fighting.

"I'll make you just as beautiful as my children, little favorite," Ishtar cooed. "Quit your squirming. That little knife of yours can't hurt me."

"You are mad," Sam heard Castiel rasp, deeper and than usual. _Not the best way to talk her down, Cas!_ Sam thought, wishing the angel could hear him.

By the time Sam fought his way through the zombie horde to Cas and the gate to Purgatory, the goddess was wholly absorbed in torturing the angel, broken and bleeding on the floor. The Hand of God lay forgotten a few feet away from them. Sam bent and picked it up. It's smooth surface warmed his hand, and holding it sent pins and needles up his arm. He brought the weapon to bear on Ishtar. Before he could even begin to figure out how to fire, she casually flicked her arm his direction and Sam went flying. He crashed landed on his bad arm and nearly blacked out again.

Ishtar tisked at him. "Silly little human. Your weapon has no more power in it. Can't you tell? You can't hurt me."

Sam pulled himself up as much as he could. His head throbbed, and he could feel a broken rib or three. "Why are you doing this?" Sam gasped, stalling. "What do you want?"

She laughed hysterically. "What do I want?!" She turned to face him, leaving an unmoving Castiel contorted on the ground behind her. "Before she died, Shawna here," the goddess swept a hand down her body, "she once got over being dumped by burning every possession of her ex that she could find. I'm doing the same thing, just on a bigger scale. It's very satisfying."

Sam's face clearly gave away his confusion, because Ishtar screeched. "God, you idiot! I gave that jerk absolutely everything I had. My temples, my people, my power. I even _loved_ Him! And what did He do? He left me! Said that He didn't need anyone else! So now I'm going to burn it all to the ground, starting with His favorites... the humans, and this little feathered freak He cared enough about to resurrect."

Sam finally managed to pull himself upright. "God's gone. I've been to Heaven. He left all of us, Ishtar. Not just you."

Her manic eyes narrowed, and her fist clenched the handle of her knife, Castiel's blood slowly dripping off the edge. Sam risked stepping closer. "You don't need the Purgatory souls. With Raphael gone, nobody here can beat you. Close the gate, please. Let it be finished."

Her lip curled, and Sam flew sideways into the stacked crates Dean was strapped to. This time he felt one of those broken ribs go into a lung. _Maybe more than a lung,_ Sam thought as his vision went spotty.

"It will not be finished until everything that He loves is ash!" Ishtar shrieked. She spun and slid her blade into Castiel's chest, let go of the hilt, and stepped back with a deranged smile. "Goodbye, little favorite. Time to call forth the souls languishing in Purgatory. Unlike some gods, I don't abandon my children."

***

Dean felt like he was in two places at once. Part of him was bone tired but content, safe. The other part felt like he got hit by a fucking train. Something jostled the hit-by-a-train part, and Dean groaned and forced his eyes open a crack. Blurry shapes and flickering lights gradually coalesced into something that made sense. Cold chains still held Dean's wrists, shoulders, hips and ankles trussed against the rough wooden crates. Dean spotted Sam laying on the floor to his right. Blood dripped out of his unconscious little brother's mouth, and one of Sammy's hands rested splayed across his chest, like he was trying to apply pressure (or was maybe just in pain) before he passed out.

Dean forced his eyes the other direction, past an unmoving army of zombies (fucking creepiest shit Dean had ever seen) and saw a swirl of dark and red on the wall to his left. _That must be the open gate to Purgatory,_ Dean thought. _Guess my soul got hijacked after all._ Dean's eyes swept over Raphael's unmoving body, splayed between the gaping, black tunnel to monster-hell and the catatonic zombies and framed by ashen wings. His silver sword rested in one loose hand.

Dean didn't remember the archangel's death. He had a vague notion that he'd maybe hit Raphael or something, but it was all muddled. Dean's gaze swept the rest of the room as he struggled to remember. Then he saw Cas. Cas, with a giant-ass knife sticking out of his chest and a skinny naked chick with blood on her hands standing over him.

"No." Dean was surprised he could even speak, and not just because of the gag tied over his mouth. The scary chick looked over at him, pretty quickly decided he wasn't a threat, then turned back to the door to Purgatory and began chanting.

Fuck. Dean didn't know what to do. He stared at the body of his best friend. God brought Cas back before, so maybe... Dean lost a little time again, and when he opened his eyes, everything was the same as before, except he could see a mass of black, twisting things gathered on the other side of the portal in front of the girl.

 _Ishtar,_ Dean's brain supplied. Right. That made sense.

Dean turned his stinging eyes back to his little brother. He thought he could see Sam still breathing. Oh God he better still be breathing. Brother dying. Angel dead. And Dean was still completely useless.

He thought back to what Sam said about Michael earlier, about Dean not trusting Sam. He thought about asking Cas to trust him, and the last thing they'd said in that strange mental conversation. "Sammy you better be right about this," he muttered around the cloth in his mouth.

"Michael, if you're listening, wherever the hell you are... this is your 'yes.'"

Instantly, a (slightly smug) voice echoed in Dean's head. _Hello, Dean._

Evidently archangel superpowers included understanding gagged attempts at talking. Dean felt power build around him, his whole body humming with it. "Before we do this, I wanna hear it from you," he growled. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping us now?"

_When I cast down my brother, it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, Dean. It was my greatest test of faith. I realize now that I failed. I hurled Lucifer into the cage out of obedience to my Father, when I should have done it to protect mankind, you._

"What, so you're saying you just happened to have a change of heart in time to jump my bones?" Dean snorted with what little breath he had. "Pretty convenient."

_The Apocalypse I had devoted myself to for millennia was averted by three fallible humans and an outcast angel. The only way that could have happened is by my Father's will._

Dean felt the power coil around him, drawing tight around his body. Though hot like fire, it did not burn him.

 _My Father's will is clear to me now, more than ever,_ Michael continued. _He means us to truly serve you. Not just bow, but serve. I still don't understand why you are His favorites, but I have faith that one day I will know. I look to you to teach me, in time._

"I'm not the best teacher," Dean whispered, or maybe he just thought it. It was getting hard to tell. "Ask Sammy to teach you. He's the one that went to college."

_Are you satisfied with my answer, Dean? Are you ready?_

"Just one more question," Dean gasped. "Can you fix Sam and bring Cas back?"

Michael hesitated before replying. _Perhaps. I've never tried bringing an angel back before. On my own, I most likely cannot. You and I together... Well, you have a habit of doing the impossible, Dean Winchester._

That was good enough for Dean. "Okay then. Let's do this."

Dean closed his eyes as the world whited out around him.

A moment later, Michael opened them.


	10. Riders on the Storm

Sam dragged his eyes open, pulled back into consciousness by the gruff sound of Dean's voice. A moment later he had to shut them again as white light filled the room.

When the brightness faded, Sam looked up at his brother.

No. It was immediately apparent that this was not Dean. Even before he snapped the chains holding him like they were made of paper and eased the gag from his lips with more grace and confidence than Dean ever had, Sam knew.

"Michael," he whispered. The archangel bent down, healed him with a touch, and took the Deus Manu from Sam's lax hand. Sam watched with wide eyes as the archangel wearing his brother turned to Ishtar, who was inhaling the twisted souls from Purgatory one by one.

"Well, look who it is," she taunted. "I've been at this for a while now, Michael. Are you sure you want to test me?"

Michael raised his silver sword in one hand, the Deus Manu in the other, and said, "There's a faster way to do that, you know."

Ishtar snatched Raphael's discarded blade off the ground and struck. As the two exchanged blows, testing each other's defenses, Sam edged past the now-still zombies to where his gun fell during the fighting. The undead didn't react to him. With all of Raphael's angels gone and Ishtar focused on Michael, the zombies defaulted to inaction without new commands from their goddess.

Sam spotted his handgun beneath a middle-aged zombie's foot. Sam wet his lips and swallowed. He pushed the putrid, rotting foot up with one hand and grabbed the gun with the other. He'd never been so happy to have two working arms. Sam wove back through the lines of undead until he had a clear shot. As soon as the circling goddess had her back to him, Sam fired.

Ishtar spun, cursing him in annoyance. Sam grinned at her, and Michael fired the divine weapon. Ishtar screamed and spread her arms as the light hit her back, but two of the zombies nearest the fighting jump into action, leaping past Sam to intercept the blast. They were instantly vaporized. Ishtar fell to the ground injured, but not dead.

She crawled toward her horde as Michael advanced. Sam spun and opened fire at the advancing wall of zombies. There was no way he had enough ammo for this.

An explosion lit up the far end of the warehouse, taking out a big chunk of the wall and bigger chunks of the dozen zombies near it.The flames died down. As the smoke cleared, Sam watched with an open mouth as Bobby marched through the gaping hole in the wall, flanked by Tamara and six other hunters Sam didn't know. They all carried grenade launchers.

Another zombie ran at Sam, who shot it in the face with his gun. He never thought shooting a zombie in the face with a handgun would make him feel inadequate, but there you go.

Ishtar's shrill cries rang above the cacophony. "Don't kill me! I just wanted Him back! Just like you!"

Sam turned in time to see Michael stop his advance. Sam almost yelled at him to quit hesitating and kill her (they had unkillable zombies to deal with), but the archangel called, "Sam, come here."

Sam hurried over, and Heaven's Prince handed him the Deus Manu. "Keep her from escaping," he said. The archangel turned to Ishtar and his voice turned to steel. "If my little brother is dead, I will not show you mercy."

Sam pointed the weapon at the goddess (as much as he could point a sphere), hoping if she did make a break for it he could figure out how to fire the damn thing.

Michael crouched down and placed a hand where Ishtar's knife still protruded from Castiel's chest. He frowned, tilted his head, and pulled the knife out sharply. "He is still alive! I can feel his grace now." Dean's green eyes narrowed in contemplation. "This knife somehow muted it."

Sam wanted to watch, but he kept his eyes on Ishtar. "Can you heal him?"

"Dean asked me the very same thing," Michael said. "It is good to know my brother has found such loyal friends. And yes, I can."

Then came another, slightly dimmer, flare of light, and Sam heard Castiel gasp in a breath.

"Dean?" the angel rasped.

"He is fine, brother," Michael said. "He says to tell you that he'll kill you if you ever die on him again."

"He's awake?" The shock in Castiel's voice made Sam turn his head to look at the two angels for a second.

It was one second too long. Ishtar threw Sam to the side and thrust a second, smaller knife into Michael's – _Dean's,_ Sam thought – spine. Before anyone could react she wrapped an arm around Castiel's throat and dragged him through the open gate into Purgatory, yelling an incantation as they crossed the threshold.

The door slammed shut. The warehouse fell silent as the undead become dead again, and the wall became just a wall.

All Sam could think was, _It's my fault_.

***

_Cas!_ Dean yelled. He felt like he was hanging onto a spinning merry-go-round by his fingertips and somebody greased the rails. Any second now he would lose his grip and then he'd be lost inside an archangel somewhere. _Michael, get him back!_

_I cannot, Dean._

_Why not?!_

_The gate is closed. We will need Sam's help to re-open it._ The archangel grunted as he pulled the knife from his (their) back. The blade was black. Dean knew it hurt Michael more than the archangel let on, but he wasn't in the mood to feel sympathy. He and Sam had a gate to open. Michael must have sensed Dean's need to see his brother, because his eyes turned and brought Sam into their field of vision. Poor kid probably thought this was all his fault despite the fact that Dean was the one who opened the gate in the first place.

"Dean does not blame you, Sam," Michael relayed without Dean's permission.

"Maybe he should," Sam replied, climbing to his feet from where Ishtar had thrown him. "How do we get in there and get Cas back?"

"I can reset the spell to open the gate enough for you and Dean to enter Purgatory, but only your souls," Michael explained to both of them. "You would be killed in minutes if you took your physical forms as well."

_Wait, you're not coming?_ Dean interrupted.

_Will you miss me?_

"Purgatory is not a realm meant for angels, nor for humans," Michael said out loud. "I will be unable to accompany you, and you will be able to get out with Castiel _because_ you do not belong. If you need the protection a physical body provides in order to make the journey back to earth, Castiel will be able to hold you inside his vessel."

Dean faded out again as Sam started to ask another question. It was exhausting trying to grip awareness hard enough to stay there for more than a few minutes at a time. Jimmy was wrong. "Chained to a comet" was an understatement. When Dean clawed his way back again after a short breather, Bobby stood there with half a dozen other hunters, including Tamara.

_When did they get here?_

_During the fighting,_ Michael replied. _Bobby shouted at me for five minutes as soon as he saw us._

_Huh. So, what'd I miss?_

Michael responded by sweeping his gaze across the impressive amount of blood sigils covering a different wall of the warehouse. _Sam has been informing Bobby of our plans. We are nearly ready._

_So, what_ are _our plans?_ Dean asked. _Other than "go in and get Cas out" I mean._

Dean felt his mouth curve into a smile that wasn't his, which had to be one of the strangest experiences in his very strange life. Michael stepped away from the wall and over to where Sam, Bobby, and Tamara were arguing about something.

"Is Dean awake again yet?" Sam asked.

Michael nodded. "Shall we go over the plan again for his benefit, and Bobby's?"

"Sure." Sam launched into an explanation. "So, now that the sigils are up, Michael's going to send me and Dean through into Purgatory, but just our souls. Human bodies apparently are a bit fragile for the environment there. We find Cas, which Michael said shouldn't be too hard because angels aren't meant to be in Purgatory, either, so he'll stand out. Then we find another portal to spit us back out again."

Bobby snorted. "Well that sounds fool-proof."

"It will be difficult," Michael agreed. "But the Winchesters have faced longer odds before. They will also have one of Heaven's most powerful weapons to aid them." He held up the Elhiym Yad. "It still carries part of Dean's soul, so he will be able to use it even without a physical form."

_What happens to our bodies while we're gone?_ Dean asked.

"While Sam and Dean are in Purgatory I will remain here, both to ensure that there is no further civil war in Heaven and to guarantee that Lucifer cannot take advantage of an empty vessel," Michael said, looking pointedly at Sam.

_So you're gonna be in the driver's seat the whole time I'm gone?_

_I will be in Heaven most of the time. Your body will not be in danger._

_Not what I'm worried about._

_Then what?_ Dean could feel the archangel's confusion.

_Just make sure you drink some beer and eat some burgers while you're in here. I don't want to come back to a body fueled by health food._

Michael chose to ignore that. "I will close the gate to Purgatory behind Sam and Dean to prevent any of the perverted souls from escaping," he said. He walked back over to the bloodied wall. "Sam, are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," he drawled, then looked back at Bobby. "Take care of the Impala, or Dean'll kill you when we get back."

Dean couldn't see, because Michael was doing something with his hands and the sigils to activate the spell, but he knew the older hunter nodded. Baby would be in good hands.

With a groan and a growl, the door to Purgatory opened again, and Dean felt Michael start to _push_ at him. The archangel placed a hand on Sam's shoulder as well, saying "Good luck," then spoke to Dean alone.

_You are very good at saving your little brother, Dean Winchester. Now go save mine._

The swirls of red and black closed in, and Dean heard Sam mutter, “Here goes nothing.”

Just as he felt himself detach from Michael, Dean yelled _Geronimo!_

Then he fell into Purgatory with his little brother to save his angel.

_fin_


End file.
